Black Sheep

When I wake a few hours later, Bria is still asleep. I don’t think we moved at all. I slide myself from her warmth and draw the blankets up around her shoulders. I watch her for a moment then back off the bed.

Looking around, she’s already straightened up everything from last night. The toys and chains and cuffs are all cleaned and back where they belong. When I go to retrieve a pair of pajama bottoms, I find her purple lingerie draped on my dresser next to a folded button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, a black backpack leaning next to them. Christ, one look at that lace and my dick tents my flannel. I scrape my hand down my face and cast a hungry look in her direction.

“Fuck,” I whisper. Duke’s gentle whine from his dog bed is the only thing keeping me from climbing back onto the sheets and driving into her. “Come on, boy.”

I let Duke out in the backyard before I head to the bathroom. On my way back to the kitchen, I set the automatic ball-throwing machine on for him. He lopes around the garden as I put on some music and start the coffee and wash strawberries. I set out whipped cream and butter and syrup as I make batter for pancakes. I’m adding another to the growing stack that’s keeping warm in the oven when Bria appears.

“Hi,” she says from behind me. I turn and she’s standing on the other side of the kitchen island, her hands in her pockets, the top buttons of her shirt undone to reveal a bra of nude lace with gold piping. Bruises pepper her neck and chest. She smirks when I meet her eyes after imagining what this lingerie might look like without the clothes. It reminds me of the look she gave me in the coffee shop that first day. Caught you.

Except this time, there’s no one around to judge me if I pounce. The only thing that stops me is the scent of burning batter.

“Shit,” I whisper, whirling back to the oven, the sound of her giggle chasing after me. I ditch the burnt pancake onto a plate for Duke and then start another. “Coffee?”

“Please,” she says, and I hear her slide onto one of the barstools. I pour her a cup and set it down on the island. She pulls the mug toward her with a smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Aside from our brief conversation? Like the dead,” I say as I flip the pancake. I’m relieved when it lands in the pan as intended and not on the floor. “How about you?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever fallen asleep with a cock still in my pussy, so that was a first.”

“Christ, I wasn’t sure I’d dreamed that,” I reply and she laughs. My heart nearly climbs out my throat and dumps itself into the frying pan. Fuck. Since when did a woman’s laugh make me feel this way? Why do I know I’ve earned something rare and precious?

I finish one last pancake and pull the stack out of the oven, laying out two plates on the island. Bria looks at the food as though a spaceship has landed on the granite countertop. I wait for her to take a pancake but she doesn’t, so I plop one on a plate and drizzle it with syrup, then a dollop of whipped cream, a square of butter, and a handful of strawberries.

“It’s called a pancake,” I say, pushing it toward her as she draws her coffee cup closer to make room for the plate.

Bria scoffs. “I know what a pancake is, Eli.”

The sound of my name on her lips echoes in my head. She’s never called me anything but Kaplan outside a moment of intimacy. A blush warms my cheeks but I try not to let it show, which isn’t hard as Bria’s still eyeballing the food with endearing wariness. “Generally, they’re for eating. Sometimes for throwing. Or burning to use as dog food. I’m just getting a jump on your request to find better treats for Duke.”

She looks up at me as though I’ve just thrown her into prison. “It’s…a lot of sugar.”

“What’s wrong with sugar?”

“I can’t eat that much.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Special occasions only,” she says evasively with a grin of secrets.

“Ah. So it’s won’t. Does breaking into my house and being fucked all night until you fall asleep with a cock in your pussy not count as a special occasion?”

Bria clamps her lips between her teeth, a laugh begging to be let free in the shimmer of her eyes. She’s the most unusual combination of regimented and reckless. She’ll sneak into my house and wait in the dark in her lingerie with my retired police dog, but she won’t break what is clearly a self-imposed rule and eat a pancake lathered in syrup.

“You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart,” I say as I cut into a piece of her pancake with my fork and push it around in the syrup. She leans back as the fork makes a sweeping pass close to her lips before I put it in my mouth. I give her a mischievous, lopsided smile and her gaze darts down to my dimple. My eyebrows climb in an unspoken request for her to answer the question.

Bria shrugs, grinning around the lip of her mug.

Insolent woman, my darkness whispers deep within.

I slowly set my fork down and then pull the coffee cup from her fingers. She looks at me like she can hear the whisper growing louder in my thoughts. It tempts me with all the things I could do to her. I keep hold of her gaze as I grab the end of a strawberry and roll it through syrup and whipped cream. “I think you just made a critical error, Bria Brooks.”

“Did I?” she asks, amusement laced in her voice. I sense her muscles tensing. My mouth waters.

“You did.” I stand straighter and take my first slow, careful step toward the end of the island.

Bria shifts on her stool, her eyes sparkling as she places one foot on the floor. There’s no move she can make that I won’t notice. “And what mistake was that?”

I take another step, the strawberry poised between my finger and thumb. Whipped cream and syrup drip down my hand. Bria slides from her stool.

“You thought the games were over.” With one more step, I’m at the end of the island. Bria’s grin is the most vibrant shade of wicked I’ve ever seen. “Run, sweetheart.”

Bria squeaks and takes off toward the living room, leaving a wake of laughter behind her. It’s like blood on a game trail. I want to devour every sound that comes out of her mouth.

Bria bolts for the hallway to the bedrooms but I catch her around the waist and she squeals. There’s no doubt in my mind after the library that she could lay me out on my ass if she wanted to, but she only squirms, making my impossibly hard dick even harder. I haul her off her feet, the strawberry still in my raised hand, and carry her to the sectional couch in the living room where I dump her onto the cushions.

“You remember your safe word?” I ask as I pin Bria’s thighs open my knees and push her chest down with my free hand. She nods, that devious smile still lighting up her face. Her tangled hair spreads across the grey upholstery, her skin is flushed and glowing. A dark giggle bubbles past her lips when she squirms in my grasp. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Good. Now come on, baby. Open that pretty mouth and let me give you something sweet.”

Bria absolutely cackles and my heart splits in two with the overwhelming need to make her do it again. I chase her mouth with the strawberry as she tilts her head in every direction. The whipped cream and syrup drip onto her skin and leave a trail across her cheek that I lean down and lick off with a slow pass of my tongue.

“You are a terrible influence, Eli Kaplan,” Bria says as I manage to swipe a streak of whipped cream across her lips. I don’t miss the hitch in her breath when I lick it off. “And coming from me, that’s saying something.”

“I guess you might as well just give up now in that case.” I take a bite of the strawberry and hold it on my tongue as I lean in and press my lips to hers. The flavors of Bria’s coffee and toothpaste swirl with sweetness as I convince her to open for me. When she finally does, I push the piece of strawberry into her mouth and she sighs with delight.

“Good girl,” I say when I pull back and she smiles. I’m riveted to the movement of her lips as she chews and swallows. She sticks out her tongue for another piece. When I move to put the rest of the berry in her mouth, she shakes her head and trains her gaze to my lips. “I take that back. Wicked girl.”

A guileful grin sweeps across her face. “Give me another bite and I’ll be good.”

I let out an incredulous laugh. “Something makes me think you haven’t been good a day in your life.”

I take another bite of the strawberry and lean down, kissing Bria with increasing force until she relents, letting me pass her the fruit. But the kiss has already ignited the inferno burning between us. There’s no stopping this time.

I toss the rest of the berry somewhere across the room. I break our kiss to press my lips to her jaw and my fingers into her mouth. She licks the syrup and cream from my skin. When she sucks on my fingers, I bite her neck and she only sucks harder. “I thought you said you’d be good,” I whisper before I nip her earlobe, my fingers working at the buttons of her shirt.

“My mistake,” Bria says through a moan as I kiss her neck.

“Not only did you just lie, but you’ve worn this damnable shirt with a thousand tiny buttons. What the fuck.” I give up fumbling with the shirt and lean back to rip it open, buttons pinging across the hardwood to reveal a cream-colored lace corset with gold piping. It dives below her jeans in a tantalizing display of craftsmanship that I want to tear apart with my teeth.

For a moment I can’t move.

The most stunning, most cunning, most beautiful and brilliant and brutal woman I’ve ever known is lying trapped beneath my flannel-covered knees. She plays every game and wins. And now here she is the next morning, as sweet as syrup, and she’s wrapped herself up like a fucking goddess. I drag my hand down my face and cover my mouth to keep my confessions from tumbling from my lips. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bria. What are you doing to me.”

“Only what you’re doing to me, Dr. Kaplan,” she says with a smile that fades as quickly as it appears, leaving only heat and want in its wake. “Letting me out of my cage.”

A sharp breath fills my lungs.

I lose myself in the next beat of my heart.

Bria’s fingers pull at my waistband in desperation as I undo the button of her jeans and tug them down her legs, revealing a gold pattern of ribbons holding the corset in place with no obstructions to her sex. I pull her pants off and throw them to the floor as she grips and strokes my erection, lining me up to her silken folds.

My hands frame Bria’s face. I watch every change in her expression as I push inside her. Need. Desire. Longing. Pain and pleasure.

“This,” is all I can manage to say as I run my hand down the fabric encasing her body. I trace the line of decorative piping that skims her hip as I glide within her. “Yes.”

“Unnecessary fabric,” she agrees with a nod, following her words with a breathless moan as I thrust in steady strokes, pushing deeper and deeper until she takes all of me. If she’s sore from last night she doesn’t let on. Her eyes close and a crease appears between her brows and it’s only bliss that I see, bliss and a need to be filled with everything I can give, no questions asked. So I do. I rock in long, gliding strokes and devour every inch of her skin that I can with my lips.

“Touch yourself,” I whisper as I guide one of her hands down between us. She starts to circle her clit and I lean back enough to watch, memorizing the pressure and motion she uses. I want to know what she likes the most, committing it to my memory. With every swirling, spiraling touch, I push closer to oblivion. My muscles already shudder with the need to spill into her. Something about Bria in the morning light touching herself in this ridiculously sexy lingerie just throws me right to the edge. She locks her eyes to mine and bites her lip with a whimpering moan. “Close?”

Bria nods.

“Thank fuck. Come, baby.”

The crease between Bria’s brows deepens. Her fingers press harder into her flesh, the movement losing its fluidity as her muscles start to spasm. Her eyes glaze, but they still hold on to mine. Her back arches beneath me as veins and tendons thrum and strain in her neck. I fight to hold back as every fluttering contraction of Bria’s orgasm grips my cock and begs me to release. When I’m sure she’s had every second of pleasure that she can take, I pull out and haul her up to a sitting position, straddling her on my knees so my glistening erection is close to her lips.

“You’re not going to make some terrible joke about giving me my breakfast, are you?” Bria asks as her palms coast up my thighs. I hold the base of my cock with one hand and slide my other into her hair.

“Not anymore.”

Bria laughs and I swear I almost spill across her face from the sound. She grips her hand over mine and runs the tip of my cock across her lips. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much,” she says, then sucks her bottom lip into her mouth with a moan. “But it won’t be.”

You fucking lucky sonofabitch, Kaplan. 

I plunge my dick into Bria’s mouth and bottom out at the back of her throat. She gags and I feel her swallow, adjusting to the intrusion before I pick up a rhythm. Saliva and tears spill down her face and I grasp the back of the couch with the hand that had been gripping my cock, my head bent so I can watch as I fuck her mouth, every thrust a little wilder until I’m stripped to the core of my darkness, just like she wanted. She hums with approval, sending a shockwave of vibration through my dick that goes straight to my balls. They tighten and I thrust my cock as far as she can take me, spilling into the hot, wet heat of Bria’s throat. She swallows it all with a moan, as though it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted, and when I’m finished and empty I pull out against the sensation of her sucking hard, a devilish gleam peering up at me through her wet lashes.

“Better than pancakes,” Bria says as her bottom lip folds beneath her teeth.

God, I want to tell her how I feel. I lean back and look at her, all swollen lips and streaked skin and wild hair still gripped in my fist. My heart pounds with the aching need to confess, like I’ve committed a damnable sin that I can’t keep buried any longer. I just can’t bear the thought of scaring her away.

“You’re mine, Bria Brooks,” I say instead, leaning closer until my lips are just the width of a thread from hers. “Tell me you’re mine.”

But she doesn’t. She lets go of her lower lip and her eyes break from my gaze, down to my mouth, up the slope of my cheek, and back again. “Why?”

She doesn’t know what this is, I remind myself, throwing a life raft to my drowning heart. “Because I don’t share. I want you to myself.” My words only scratch the surface of what I really feel. You’re everywhere, in everything. I don’t want anyone else. I can’t bear the thought of another man touching you. I want to know if you feel anything close to what I do. 

I’m falling in love with you. 

“You don’t know me well enough to want that, Eli,” she whispers, as though she can read my thoughts through my eyes. “You only see what you want to see.”

Her pragmatism isn’t meant to sting, but it does, even though I know she’s right. We barely know each other. Anything I feel is swept up in a tsunami of lust. And yet, I know I can’t stop how I’ve already started to feel. The awareness that Bria is unique and incomparable is instinctual. I know I’ll never meet another woman like Bria Brooks and I’m already burning with the need to hold on to her.

Bria’s fingers graze my cheek with a tentative softness, as though she’s never touched me before and isn’t sure if she should. “But I can promise you there’s no one else. I’m here.”Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

I nod and kiss her deeply, tasting us both on her tongue. It’s a long moment before I can let her go, and not before leaving a kiss to the faint freckles that span her nose. “Come on, Pancake. Let’s find something you’ll eat.”

Bria snorts a horrified laugh. “Pancake? Dear God, no.”

“You heard me.”

I hold a hand out for her and she takes it. When I’ve hauled her up on her feet I wrap her in my arms, breathing in the subtle scent of her hair as I hold her in my embrace. Her muscles are stiff at first, like she’s not quite sure what to do. And fuck if it doesn’t burn like a blade of fire in my heart. What happened in her life that a hug is foreign to her after everything we’ve shared? Why is gentle intimacy too much to bear?

I squeeze and she relaxes a fraction, and then I let her go enough to take her hand. “Have a seat in the kitchen. I’ll get you a fresh coffee and find you a shirt. What about eggs?”

Bria’s hand grips mine just a little tighter. “I’d like eggs. Thank you.”

Bria pulls on her jeans as I head to my bedroom to retrieve a white dress shirt that I know will look incredibly sexy on her, even though she’ll swim in it. She slips it on as I dump her lukewarm coffee and pour a new cup, and she sits at the island to watch as I place slices of bread in the toaster and start the eggs.

“Non es ad astra mollis e terris via,” Bria says, reading the script tattooed on my back in scrolling black ink. “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

I glance at her over my shoulder with a bittersweet smile. “Why am I not surprised you know Latin.”

“Like I said. My education with Samuel was nothing if not thorough,” she replies with a shrug. “What’s the meaning for you?”

I turn back to the pan as I crack an egg on the edge. “My older brother, Gabriel. I got it for him.” I crack another egg and spill the contents into the pan, the smell filling the room with the aroma of home, and bringing with it memories of my early childhood with Gabe. Times when we’d cook together with my parents. Times when we’d laugh at the table. All memories of a distant, submerged past. “Gabe was a brilliant kid. Truly brilliant. But he was unruly. He questioned everything. Questions became challenges. Challenges became arguments. When your parents are big into their Evangelical megachurch and cultivating the perfect family image, it’s not a great mix. The more they pressured him to conform, the less he wanted to. Eventually, he found other kids who shared his views. It just so happened, they also shared a love of partying and drugs, and that lifestyle swept him away.”

Bria is silent behind me for a long moment. The only sound between us is the sizzling of eggs in the pan. “He died?”

I nod, a familiar tension creeping into my chest. “My father caught him stealing Mom’s jewelry when he was sixteen. It had already been years of broken curfews and terrible arguments. Gabe had come home drunk and high more than a few times. But that was the last straw. Dad kicked him out. Gabe couch surfed for a little while and we managed to stay in touch for a few months before he disappeared onto the streets. By the time I caught up with some of his old friends, they told me he’d fallen in with rougher groups. He’d gotten into increasingly dangerous situations. He owed people money. He’d disappear for weeks at a time. Then he overdosed. I’d spent two years looking for him, and all the while I’d been chasing a ghost.”

I flip the eggs as the toast pops, then I put everything onto a plate before I place it on the island and slide it to Bria. When I look up, she’s watching me, those dark eyes lifting away every layer she sees. She places her hand on mine, but like the hug, the action seems foreign to her. She looks down at our joined hands for a long moment before meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“It was a long time ago. It feels like a lifetime,” I reply as I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. When I let her go, I motion for her to eat before I pull a few cold pancakes on to my plate and warm them in the microwave. “My brother was the catalyst for both my work and my freedom from the church. He always talked about how cultish it was, how the church used language and ritual to modify and control the behavior of the community. He talked about how it manipulated members and how damaging it could be. I didn’t really start paying attention until shortly before he left. Whereas Gabe funneled his need to break free into risky behaviors, I funneled mine into academia. When he was kicked out of the house, I started to understand how much of his unraveling was related to his religious trauma. Over time, everything shifted in me, and my work became my way to stay connected with Gabe, in a way.”

“And your parents?”

I shrug as the microwave dings. “They’re still in the church. They don’t see it the way Gabe and I did. Though it took some time, our relationship is okay now. But the grief and the guilt they feel has definitely taken its toll.”

Bria nods and looks down at the island, lost in thought. When she meets my eyes, she offers a faint smile. I don’t know what she’s experienced of grief and guilt, but I’m guessing the scars below the surface have seen a lot of both.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“Sharing with me. And breakfast, of course. But mostly sharing.”

Warmth spreads through my chest and hums down my arms. I ache to ask her about her past, but I somehow know I need to give her the time to come to me with whatever she’s comfortable sharing. Her trust is as fragile as spun sugar. If I tap it too hard, it will shatter. If I heat it with frustration, it will melt. I just need to be gentle with it. Sooner or later, she’ll let me get closer.

“Can I tell you a secret? Something shocking?” she asks.

Well, that was sooner than I thought. “Of course.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Bria gives me her most innocent doe eyes, but there’s still a wolf beneath the mask. “I don’t hate you.”

My loud laugh breaks through the memories that seem to float through the room like phantoms. “You don’t say. I’m shocked.”

“I know, right? No one is more surprised than me, I can assure you.”

I beam at her like the love-drunk, sexed-up fool that I am. I just hope it comes out as a cocky smirk with full dimple appeal rather than heart eyes. “I’d venture a guess to say you actually like me, Pancake.”

Bria scoffs and scowls at her half-eaten eggs, pushing a piece of toast through the runny yolk. “Keep calling me Pancake and we can go right back to hate, if you prefer.”

“I’m definitely not going to stop in that case.”

Bria sighs and glares at me as I take a slow bite of a strawberry, my grin widening. “Why are you so hard to despise?”

“Sex appeal.”

“Jesus Christ.”

I top up our coffee as she takes her last bites of egg and pushes the plate to the side with a word of thanks. I’m about to ask her to spend the day with me, which I secretly hope turns into the rest of the weekend, when an incoming call dings on her watch. The moment she looks down at the caller ID, I know.

The light leaves Bria’s eyes, and I know it’s bad.