Tank, page 14
I won’t make promises I can’t keep, and I won’t lie about going into this without reservations, so I don’t say anything more. Instead, I press my lips to his and I feel him open to me. His tongue pushes into my mouth, hungry and seeking, probing. I grasp the sides of his face and kiss him like I’m starving, like a want to devour him the way his hands and lips and tongue are consuming me.
Tank grabs my hips and rocks me back and forth in his lap. His cock is long and hard against his leathers, and just the feel of it pushing up against me has my pussy begging for more as we move with one another.
I unfasten his zip and slide my hand inside his pants, stroking the velvet length. I want badly to feel that curved cock hitting all of the right spots inside me, his wide head stretching me open as I come. I want him to bruise, to hurt, and to punish. I want him to fuck me so hard that I feel that soreness and think of him every time I move for the next two days. And as though he can sense all this, as though he knows how badly I need it, he pulls away and says, “Get on the coffee table. On all fours.”
I clamber to my feet and unfasten my jeans, sliding them down my hips and stepping out of them in a hurry. “Shirt too. I wanna see those fuckin’ awesome tits.”
I remove my shirt and bra, tossing them behind me. I stand completely naked before him while he’s still partially clothed, his dick jutting out proudly as he strokes it. He tilts his chin at me. “The table, babe.”
I eagerly scramble onto it, silently begging him to shove inside me, but he lowers himself to the floor and I feel his warm breath on my pussy.
“Fuck me, Tank,” I plead. Just moments ago his eyes had promised me everything I wanted, but this was not it. Where is the hard pounding? The pain? The release?
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and his tongue darts out to taste me. I flinch and move my hips away from him.
I can do pressure on my clit; I can handle anything any man has ever tried to give me, but the one thing I can’t do, the one thing that destroys me is pleasure without pain. I know it’s fucked up. I know I sound like I belong in some skeezy BDSM novel, but it is what it is. I’ve never let any man touch me without begging them to make it hurt. I need it to hurt.
Tank knows that. He’s always known that. I’ve never been able to separate pure pleasure from that part of me that needs to be hurt. So the fact that Tank is trying again to break me of that, well, it not only pisses me off, but it feels like a knife to the gut.
“Tank,” I beg. He wraps an arm around my hips and holds me like a vice. I can’t move. I squirm against him, but he won’t let me go. Without warning, he drives two thick fingers inside me. It hurts, and I breathe easier, especially once he starts thrusting them in and out of me in a brutal punishing rhythm. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sound and feel of his slick fingers working against my body.
When I’m close, he stops pumping all together. He slides them out of me and the arm pinning me in place loosens a little as his fingers gently stroke my clit. I buck against him, away from him, and though I can feel my orgasm building, I don’t want it like this. I can’t have it like this. My body disagrees completely, and as he buries his head in my pussy, eating me out as though he’s famished, licking me from back to front, and stroking my clit with attentive fingers, I come undone. Pleasure, heady and intense, smacks into me. I lose myself completely.
Tank keeps up his gentle pressure, licking and sucking until a second orgasm sluices through me, and it’s too much. I can’t deal with the sensations in my body, and the idea that they’re caused not by pain but from pleasure alone.
Hot tears trail down my cheeks and I close my eyes. I twist and grab his head from behind, holding him in position as I ride out the agonising high.
Tank gets to his feet and I think finally he’s going to fuck me, that he’ll drive into me and fuck me senseless right here on the table, and that we can forget whatever the hell that was, but he doesn’t fuck me. Of course he doesn’t. He takes hold of my waist and lifts me from the table, setting me on my feet. Slowly, I turn and face him. His beard is covered with my juices, and while a part of me wants to lick it off, I lower my head and lean into his body. I can’t look at him. If I do, I’m afraid he’ll see something in me, something that tells him he can continue to treat me with tenderness, and that isn’t at all what I want. It isn’t—
He steals my thoughts by placing his hands on either side of my face and gently, reverently tilting my head up to his. I close my eyes so I don’t meet his gaze, so he won’t see beneath to all of the unexposed parts of me.
“Look at me, babe.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Please?” he begs, and goddamn him, I do. Because I’ve never heard him sound so defenceless. I’ve never heard him sound vulnerable, and the fact that this huge man—who’s ordinarily so strong and so self-reliant—might need something from me, something that only I can give him in this moment, is a sobering thought. I open my eyes, and see the need there, not just need but hunger and nervousness all at once, which makes me smile a little, because it’s so odd to see the man who never feels anything show so much emotion with one little look.
“I’m gonna take you to my bed, and I’m gonna lay you down, and I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before, and you’re gonna love every second of it,” he whispers, and kisses me hard on the mouth.
I return his kisses with vigour. Our mouths devour one another, our hands soothe and scorch all at once, and for the first time in my life I feel something I never thought possible. I feel strong and weakened. I’m overjoyed and undone all at once because I’ve never had anyone touch me the way he does, I’ve never had anyone build me up before, and I’ve never not wanted to break in another man’s hands.
Tank builds, not breaks. Odd, considering he kills for a living. Though I guess that’s exactly what he’s doing in this moment. Killing me slowly, softly, and so deliciously that I’d happily die a thousand times over to feel this again.
His big hands move from my hair down my back and cup my arse, hard. It’s the first time he’s shown any of the Tank that I’m used to, and it jars me for a moment. He lifts me, and I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his hips. His legs are still in his leathers, and he shuffles at a snail’s pace, but for the first time ever there’s no urgency between us. I kiss him slow and deep and writhe against him with each step that we take towards the bedroom. Moments later, Tank stumbles and falls onto the bed, crushing me beneath him, and the air rushes out of my lungs with an oomph.
“Fuck, sorry,” he says, leaning up on his elbows.
“Holy shit, you’re heavy,” I say, when I regain my breath.
“You wanna be on top?”
I grin and shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
He grins back and kisses a trail down my neck to my breasts. He takes my nipple between his teeth and gently bites down, forcing an arc of molten liquid to shoot from my tits to my pussy. I cry out, and Tank’s sapphire eyes pin me with promises. He trails his mouth lower and settles himself between my legs.
“No, Tank, please? I need you to fuck me,” I beg.
“And I need to feel these pretty thighs of yours squeezing the sides of my face.” He growls and I shut up, because there’s something beautiful in the way Tank eats pussy. He has this thing about looking into your eyes as he gets you off. It’s fucking phenomenal. With any other man it might make me feel awkward, or self-conscious. But not with him.
He slides two fingers inside me and my breath hitches. Tank licks up one side of my pussy and down the other, and then he twists his fingers inside me, and presses against my G-spot.
“Oh fuck,” I moan, unable to control the way my legs shake as he fucks me hard with those long, thick fingers of his, and hits all the right places.
“Come for me, baby.”
Tank’s coarse beard adds to the sensation as I slide my cunt against his mouth. With one big hand he shoves my writhing hips down on the mattress and sucks my clit into his mouth. “Oh fuck, Tank,” I pant, as I grab his hair and practically scalp him in the process.
I squeeze my thighs together in an effort to lessen the pressure or intensify it—I’m not sure which. All I know is that I feel too much right now. I also know that Tank has no intention of letting me go until I come for him. I know this, and yet I still try to squirm away.
He tries pinning me to the bed with his huge arms, but I struggle. It’s too much. Too sweet. Too gentle. When he gets tired of fighting me, he growls and gets to his knees, slides his arms underneath me and lifts my arse off of the bed. He doesn’t just lift my arse, but my whole body, and settles me over his shoulders, burying his face in my pussy again while he supports me with firm hands at my back. He sucks my clit into his mouth and I come, hard, scratching his head, neck, and anything else I can find purchase with. Tank grunts as I practically suffocate him with my thighs, and then he unceremoniously dumps me on the bed in a heap of shaking limbs and weightlessness.
It’s as if he’s sliced me open from forehead to toes and yanked out all my bones, and I’m left with muscle and sinew that clings to nothing. I should be unnerved, but instead, for the first time in my life I feel free. Even if only for a moment. Even if the hurt and pain and torment of my father comes creeping back in as soon as this bliss disperses, I’ll still have the knowledge that for one fleeting second I escaped him. Tank gave me that when no one else even bothered to try.
I laugh at … well, I’m not even sure what I’m laughing at. The endorphins? The way he just tossed me around like a ragdoll? Or the fact that I just had three of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, and they had nothing to do with pain.
When I quit giggling like a fucking schoolgirl I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me in awe. My laughter stops short. “Sorry.”
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ apologise. I don’t know what the hell you’re laughin’ at, and so long as it’s not my cock I don’t care.” He climbs on top of me and spreads my legs apart with his knees, fitting himself into the space between my thighs. His cock presses against my clit, making me slowly arch up against him. Tank rests his weight on bent elbows and smooths the hair back from my face. The way he looks at me makes me feel nervous for the first time in a long time. I shouldn’t get too used to this. I shouldn’t get too used to him, because even though I want to, the idea of trusting in this, of falling in love with him, frightens me more than being alone and on the run.
“I’m never gonna let you leave this bed,” he whispers.
“You’re not, huh?” I snag his earlobe in my teeth and bite down hard.
Tank growls, and his full lips twist with a wry grin. “Don’t plan on it, nope. I was just makin’ you aware.”
“I think I can take you,” I say, flexing my hips so his cock slides over the hood of my clit.
“Can you now?”
“You bet your arse I can, Mr Whitecross.”
Tank chuckles. The sound resonates through his big barrel chest and my nipples turn to hard, tight little buds. His mouth covers mine as he slides one arm beneath me, cupping my arse. I kiss him back and use the distraction to roll us so that I’m lying on top. It’s graceless and not without a lot of effort on my part—because like I said before, he’s heavy—but his brows arch in mock surprise.
“You know I helped there, right?”
“Shut up,” I warn, but he doesn’t say a thing, just grins and takes hold of my waist when I push myself into a sitting position. I lift my hips and reach for his thick cock, guiding it slowly inside me until he’s seated balls’ deep and I can feel every inch of him stretching me wide. He’s so big it hurts, and my instinct is to ride him harder, to make it hurt even more, but this isn’t about punishment.
Tank groans, “Jesus, fuck. You’re tight.” He slides a hand across my hip and down to my pussy where he rubs my clit with the softest of touches. I rock back and forth on top of him. I need to come again. I need to come with his cock buried inside me, opening me, stretching me. I need to feel his release as I pulse around him. But I know it’s far too soon for that. I move my hips, matching the rhythm he creates with his hand. It’s such a simple thing, and yet it feels as though I’ve never experienced pleasure like this before. And maybe I haven’t. Maybe I never really knew what pleasure was.
He pulls me down and threads his hands into my hair, smothering my neck and shoulder with kisses. There’s an urgency to his touch that wasn’t there before. “Babe, I’ve gotta fuck you now.”
I nod, rocking my hips in time with his, coaxing and willing him closer to the edge. I can’t think when he’s inside me, can’t form words. Not after he blew my world wide open with a few well-placed touches and that very talented tongue.
I deliberately clench my muscles and he hisses as if he’s in pain, and then his hands are gone from my hair. They grip my hips. His fingers claw at my soft flesh as he pumps in and out of me. Tank intensifies his pace, and I can’t hold back any longer. With a cry, I come. I shatter into a billion tiny pieces. I’m suspended around him, above him, and I’m spent. I’m undone.
Somehow, I keep time with him and, rocking my pelvis against his, I ride out my orgasm with my eyes closed and tears streaming down my cheeks as pleasure forces my body to jerk and quake and completely let go. Tank trails a hand up my back and grasps the nape of my neck in his hands. I open my eyes and smile down at him.
The reinvention of Ivy.
That’s what this is. That’s what all these gentle, sweet and achingly tender touches are about. He wasn’t kidding when he said he intended to show me something other than hurt. And I should be angry at him for wanting to change the way I’m hardwired, for wanting me to be something other than a fucked up pain junkie, but I’m not. I’m not anything but a boneless pile of muscle, tissue, sinew, and nerve endings. And I don’t care that he wants to put an end to all that mercilessness, because sometimes you have to break even the most wilful of things to make them fit back together whole, complete, and stronger than before.
Tank continues to move inside of me, and though I’m spent, I writhe against him, with him. When he finally does slip over the edge, I take his face in my hands and crush my lips to his. I kiss him so deeply I don’t know how we ever kissed any other way. I swallow his primal grunts and cries of pleasure, and he wraps his huge arms around me like a vice and squeezes me until I can’t breathe.
When his body goes lax and his breathing turns from heavy and strained to a light snore, I pull away a little, in order to see his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and his face is slackened with sleep. Tank has one of those too-square jaws with sharp cheekbones, and dark, intense blue eyes that can be so full of emotion one second, and so devoid and cold the next. His full lips are always red from riding in the wind. His beard is dark and unkempt, and his hair too, most of the time, because he crops it himself with a rusted out old pair of clippers. When I met him it was down past his shoulders with natural light brown highlights from the sun. He looked a lot younger then, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being able to tug on it while his face was buried between my legs.
He’s far too masculine to be called beautiful, but I love that about him. Kick was pretty in a roughed up, hard-done-by kind of way, but Tank? Tank is all man. He’s hardened, yet somehow oddly vulnerable, with a face I could stare at all day. It has character. A story. A life of scars and hurt and struggle is written all over it.
On some level I think that part of him, that abused kid carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’s still in there, and he calls out to the fragile, broken girl inside me. His demons rage and roar at my own, and when we’re here in bed like this, joined, our bodies grown soft with pleasure and lethargy, I think they even quiet one another. They soothe the wrath, the want to hurt, and be hurt, and they just … are. Like wild beasts snarling in the darkness, baring their jagged teeth and claws, eventually they find a middle ground, reach an impasse, and they curl up together and just be still.
And it’s enough.
We are enough.
When I know he’s sleeping soundly, I slide out of bed and walk naked out to the lounge room. I love this house, with its open windows, its seclusion, and its scent of pine and eucalypt. I love that even though it’s not, it feels like home. Or what I imagine home should feel like. It’s what I wanted my whole life, but never thought I’d get to experience, and I know that has little to do with the building around me and everything to do with the man who inhabits it. A man who’s quickly breaking down all my walls and slowly, second by second, laying claim to my heart.
I head over to the couch and pull out the sofa cushions, searching for the three tiny pills that I’d thrown at Tank earlier. I grope around in the darkness for a long time, and find two wedged in the crack between the base of the armrest and the under-cushion support. I fish them out, and after feeling around for what seems like an eternity, I find the other pill on the rug beneath the coffee table.
Walking over to the garbage disposal, I stare at the pills in my hand. It would be so easy to take them without Tank even knowing, and I close my eyes because the post-orgasmic high is wearing off and the oxy would go down a treat. Before I can think too much about it, I splay my fingers wide and let the little pills fall through into the garbage disposal. I don’t turn it on, because it would just wake Tank. Instead, I turn on the tap and wash them away, ensuring there’s no way that I can retrieve them. I run my hands under the warm water and contemplate a soak in the huge claw-foot tub. That would probably wake him too, and I’d really rather just go back to bed and lie with him, even if I can’t sleep. I like having him near. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved, which is something I’ve never felt before. And I’m starting to think that maybe, despite what I told Adeline today, it’s something I could learn to do again. To love. To trust, and to place myself in someone else’s hands and be content there.
