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  I had my shirt open by now and was panting like a dog in heat at his touch, but I needed more. Forcing myself to sit up—which pushed his thumb into me slightly, making me moan—I ripped the shirt off of my body. Not missing a beat, Nester reached for my bra and yanked that off, too, tossing it off to the side somewhere. He squeezed both of my tits just once, then shoved me back down so that he could finish taking off my pants.

  He jerked them off quickly, then reached for my knees. He shoved them apart and I whimpered, waiting for him, needing him. He settled between them and I saw his dick pulse with desire. Swallowing, I breathed heavily with an anticipation that had been building for five years. It seemed unreal that it would actually happen, here, now. Finally.

  I felt the head of him brush against my wet opening and shuddered with pleasure. This was it. He pushed it in just slightly, spreading my lips open. Then he paused.

  His eyes jerked to my face, locking with my own gaze. Maybe he was searching for something there, though I didn’t know what, and after a moment he must have found it, because he started to push.

  It had been a long time and I was tight, and Nester wasn’t small by any means. So as he began to shove his length into my waiting body, I felt myself stretch. It was a little uncomfortable, but that quickly gave way to a surge of delightful pleasure that raced through my body.

  He groaned loudly above me, his muscles taut, his skin flushed. I reached for him, pulled him to me, clutched his shoulders and whatever part of his body I could just to get him closer to me.

  When he was buried fully inside of me, I let out a cry. I felt him hitting the very back of me, bottoming out inside, and it was almost too much for me. He seemed to sense it, because he stalled, waiting for me to get used to the feel of him—familiar, wonderful—before continuing.

  At least, continuing thrusting. Though my pussy was so full that I thought I might burst, the rest of my body was fair game.

  His hands fondled my breasts, tugging and squeezing them. He pinched the nipples and when he wasn’t quite satisfied with that, he leant forward—causing his cock to shift inside of me, a whimper escaping my lips—and captured them in his mouth. He tongued one nipple, then the next, before grazing his teeth across the little nubs each in turn.

  I was burning up with need and lust and a thousand other things, the least of which was still love. Always love.

  “Move, please,” I begged him. “I need you to—”

  I broke off as he obliged me. He pulled back, his cock slipping out of me, only to shove right back in, going once again so far that I felt him on the other side of me. I cried out, screamed his name.

  “That’s it, baby,” he told me, grounding it out between gritted teeth. “Fucking scream my name.”

  He didn’t have to tell me again. He shoved into me once more, and I did exactly as he commanded.

  “Nester!”

  He began to get a rhythm, one that was hard and fast from the get-go, because I could sense how he’d been waiting for this moment, too. His hands held onto my hips for leverage, holding me in place as he plunged into my body hard and fast, over and over again. I begged him, cried for him, screamed for him. I would give him anything in that moment, everything I had, if only he wouldn’t stop.

  One hand moved from my hip to caress my belly, then moved back up to my bouncing tits. He squeezed one as he continued to pound into me. I was panting beneath him, trying to jerk my hips into him, though it was useless because of how his hand held me down to the bed.

  He leaned forward and crashed into my lips for a kiss that was equal parts searing and tender. He swallowed my I love you and kept going.

  Giving my tit a final squeeze, he let his hand move back down. I thought maybe he was going to return to my hip for more leverage, but instead his hand made its way between our sweating, heated bodies. He found the base of where we were joined, my lips fat and wide around his thick cock, but his fingers stopped just above the entrance.

  I realized what he was doing a second before I felt it.

  “Fuck!” I screamed as his thumb found the swollen nub that sent a shock of pleasure speeding through me.

  He grinned down at me, cocky, but also so full of need that it was almost a grimace, too. His thumb began to rub my button as he continued to shove into me. For a while, the only sound in the room was that of our bodies slapping together, skin against skin. We glistened with sweat and other things, my tits bounced with the force of his thrusts, and our breathing was nothing but desperate panting.

  His thumb was bringing me closer and closer to my release and when Nester clenched his eyes shut tightly, I knew he was nearly there, too.

  Reaching a hand up, I caressed his face, making his eyes snap open to look at me. “Nester, honey, please. I want you to finish. Here, now, inside me.”

  His eyes flashed and that was all it took. I felt him spill inside me, filling me to the brim. A second later, he flicked his thumb once more over my clit and I, too, crashed over the edge. I called out his name and he breathed mine against my collarbone as he shook above me.

  We said nothing, but when I wrapped my arms around him, his cock softening inside of me, he held me back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nester

  We lay in bed together, her head resting on my bare chest as we slowly came down from our high. It didn’t take long for her breathing to slow, becoming even, and for her heartrate to return gently to normal. She wasn’t asleep though, her hand drawing lazy circles into my skin as we lay there in silence.

  I was doing my absolute best not to think of anything just then. The euphoria of being with Zelda was almost enough to make me disregard everything that had happened in the last few years. Almost. In the end, I knew that if I let myself think about things—what was going on, how crazy life had gotten, my own fucked up plans—then I’d get angry again. And not just a little bit.

  And I just didn’t want to be angry anymore. I was tired of that.

  So instead I took advantage of this moment and just stroked my hand through her thick, unruly hair, enjoying this feeling of human contact.

  But it was too good to last.

  “Nester?” Zelda’s voice was soft and sweet, caught somewhere between that lingering headiness that comes from sweet, sweet release and the general tiredness of having worked hard for that release. It wasn’t quite sleepy, but it was a little out of it anyway.

  “Hm?” I hummed in answer, afraid to speak, afraid that my own voice would give away my feelings just like hers was doing right now.

  “Thank you.”

  I frowned. My mind jumped first to the amazing sex—that was definitely something to be thanked for—but that was just as much thanks to her own amazing body. I was able to drag my mind out of the gutter a moment later, however, as I realized there were other things she might thank me for.

  Like letting her come in after what had happened with Santos.

  It’s her own damn fault for choosing him, whispered a malicious and inhospitable part of my brain. Santos had hit her, multiple times judging by the bruises forming on her face. How had Zelda ended up with someone like that? We argued. We fought and sometimes things got bad, heated to the point where an explosion was imminent. But never once in all of the time we were together, amidst all of those fights and anger, had I ever hit Zelda. Because she wouldn’t have tolerated it. She wouldn’t ever be the kind of woman who would let a man hurt her like that.

  So what the hell had happened?

  “Don’t thank me,” I finally told her. And I honestly believed that, because guilt was twisting my stomach. After what we’d just done together, it was hard to not feel shitty about my plans for revenge. Plans that involved manipulating and using Zelda to get back at Santos.

  She tilted her head up off of my chest, turning it so that she could balance her chin there instead of her cheek, and looked up at me. I could feel her gaze and was terrified all of a sudden to meet it. What if she looked at me like she used to, full
of love and concern?

  I stared at the wall instead of tilting my head to look down at her, but it didn’t matter. I continued to feel her gaze on me and waited for her to speak as I knew she inevitably would.

  “But I should thank you,” she told me, her voice still raw with emotion and the lingering effects of sated lust. “You’ve always been there for me.”

  I felt my muscles stiffen, tensing as she spoke to me. Why? Because she was right. I had always been there for her—she just hadn’t been able to reciprocate. Don’t think about that now, I tried to tell myself, but the thought was already there and it was impossible now to ignore.

  “Even when things got…complicated.” She hesitated there, like she was trying to find the right words—or maybe like she was trying to figure out the gentlest way to flat out lie to me. My anger started to rise, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Even when they got bad.”

  I clenched my eyes tightly shut. What am I doing? Lying there in bed with Zelda, both of us stark naked, our bodies wrapped up in each other, the lingering stickiness of our sweat and our fluids making our skin stick together, was suddenly the worst idea I’d ever had. How did I end up letting her play me like this twice?

  I felt scathing words rise up like bile in my throat, but I didn’t get them out right away. I tried to swallow them back, willing them to go away, because Zelda was hurt and even if part of me thought that she’d made her own bed and now should lie in it, there was a bigger part of me that thought that no woman deserved something like that.

  So I swallowed down the words. Unfortunately, Zelda didn’t.

  “I just…I just needed to tell you, Nester, that I’m here because I didn’t know where else to go.” She took a deep breath, then added, “And I knew I could go here because I can trust you, Nester. I love you.”

  And with those last three words, I snapped.

  “You love me?” I asked, my voice still strangely calm even as anger built like an inferno within my chest.

  I could almost sense the suddenly confused expression on her face, imagined the opening and closing of her mouth as she tried to get words out but couldn’t. “Nester, I—”

  But I wasn’t going to give her the chance to speak again. Not this time. I may have let her into my home when I’d seen the way her face had been beaten like that. And I may have let her into my bed when I became overcome with passion and need and the fact that in five years I hadn’t been able to slide into a pussy. But I wouldn’t let her into my heart, not this time.

  “You love me,” I repeated, shifting so that Zelda was forced to slide off my chest as I moved to the edge of the bed. I felt the ghost of her touch as she reached for me, but wasn’t having any of it. I stood abruptly, unconcerned with my nudity or her personal feelings. I turned to her as I felt the anger rise within me. “How convenient for you to suddenly love me again.”

  Shock registered on her beautiful, bruised face. As though I had been the one to slap her. “What are you saying, Nester? I’ve always loved you?”

  I didn’t think it was funny; I didn’t feel like laughing. But I did. I belted it out, the sound hot like cracking thunder and malicious like a kick to the gut. There was no joy or amusement there, only cold irony. “Always? I think you and I have different definitions of always. Seems like yours doesn’t last more than a couple of years.”

  I watched as her face crumpled beneath my words and forced myself not to care, not to be affected. She clutched at the sheets, pulling them tightly against her body, so that she managed to cover her nakedness, as though ashamed.

  She should be, I thought unkindly. What sort of hussy came crawling back to her ex-boyfriend after her new boyfriend started hitting her? The kind who did things for her own selfish reasons, that was who.

  I felt hatred mingle with anger and a smattering of festering pain inside of me.

  “You don’t believe that,” Zelda whispered, not able to meet my gaze anymore.

  I sneered at her, hoping that she could hear and feel my anger towards her. She deserved it. “The fuck I don’t,” I told her coldly, uncaring of her own feelings. She flinched at the harshness of my tone. “You dropped me for that asshole Santos and now you come crawling back to me, why? Because it’s more fucking convenient? Because he’s a dick?”

  A sob escaped Zelda’s full lips, and I felt that familiar twinge of guilt, but I shoved it aside. I wouldn’t let her reel me in so easily. Not again.

  “It’s not like that, Nester. It’s complicated.”

  I made a frustrated noise, raking my hands through my hair angrily. “Complicated? What the fuck is complicated about it? I went to prison; you dumped me. Then you shacked up with that piece of shit Santos and now you’re running to me when he acts just like I’ve always said he would? What the fuck, Zelda?”

  She shook her head, dark unruly hair splaying around her shoulders, tickling the long column of her neck and trying to work their way around the breasts she was trying so hard to cover up. “Please, Nester, I lo—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped. I wasn’t interested in hearing her say I love you ever again. Crocodile tears, lies, playing on my weakness for her. No. Not anymore. “You never fucking loved me, not like I loved you.”

  As soon as the words came out, I regretted them. I didn’t want her to know how much I truly had loved her, but they were out now and the pain in my chest reminded me that, no matter how angry and hurt I was, there was a big part of me that still loved her.

  A part I was struggling desperately to get rid of. If only.

  Feeling grief and emotion work their way up my throat, I nearly choked on my next words, but I was determined to get them out. “If you’d loved me, really loved me, you wouldn’t have left me to rot in that damn cell. You would have stuck by me even when things got bad. You would have been there for me, Zel, but you weren’t. Instead, you ditched me because it wasn’t convenient to be my girl anymore. And add insult to injury, you go slide your way into Santos’s bed, and then you wonder how your face ends up like that?”

  I was disgusted with her for what she’d done and myself for saying so much.

  I hated her. I loved her. I didn’t know what the fuck to do about that.

  She was shaking now, sobs racking her body as she clutched the sheet tightly to her chest. She wouldn’t meet my eyes and I took that as much an admission of guilt as anything. She knew what she’d done to me was wrong, despicable. She knew and did it anyway, because she couldn’t be bothered to think about anyone but herself.

  I didn’t know how long we stayed there like that, but I found myself no longer able to look at her. Turning away, headed towards the dresser that belonged to Jackson, not me. I felt a prick of guilt for using his bed to fuck my traitorous ex, but quickly decided that so long as I cleaned the sheets he wouldn’t give a shit.

  My clothes were downstairs, but I jerked open the top drawer of the dresser anyway. Underwear, socks, a piece tucked away beneath the undergarments only halfway hidden. I wanted to get dressed, but wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave Zelda up here by herself. Maybe just kick her out? Tell her to get her crap and go, that I never wanted to see her again?

  I was still trying to figure out what to do, how to deal with the sense of betrayal and hurt and the lingering wish that I had my own damn place again so I could at least feel at home in my grief, when I heard the bed squeak. I spared a quick glance over my shoulder to see that Zelda had gotten up from the mattress, dragging the sheet with her, and was leaning down to search the floor. A moment later she retrieved her clothes and began to get dressed, awkwardly holding the sheet at the same time in an effort to cover herself.

  I snorted at the ridiculousness of that. I’d just seen her naked, done deliciously dirty things to her body, and now she was trying to cover up?

  Eventually she had to just give up the sheet, unable to get her shirt on and still cling to it, so I got a final, fleeting glimpse of her supple flesh. I would miss her pliant body, I admitted to myself, whi
le simultaneously trying to convince myself that that was the only thing I would miss.

  She had been crying the whole time while she was getting dressed and her tears wounded me, no matter how angry I was, and it took everything I had to keep from going to comfort her. It was a strange feeling to know how she’d betrayed me, to know how she lied and used me, but to still feel so strongly for her and to have that intense urge to make her feel better.

  When she pulled her shirt over her head, she sniffled a little and composed herself, then turned to me. I glanced away then, keeping my back to her, unwilling to show her how I was still thinking about things like love and betrayal.

  I thought she was going to say something, and maybe that’s why I did it, why I twisted the knife in her gut as much as I could. “You know the only reason I even came back to you, right?” When only silence answered me, I pushed. “I did it because I knew the best way to hit Santos where it hurt was to fuck you. Guess I did that right, didn’t I?”