The Way She Burns by Jessa Kane

2

Sebastian

There is no way in hell she’s going to agree to be my live-in mistress.

Not even for a single night.

Mainly, I made the proposition because it amuses me to watch her cower inside that coat. A very expensive coat. And that tells me everything I need to know. Chloe is probably a former rich girl who got herself pregnant and was cast out on the streets by her disapproving family. I’m surprised she’s managed to hang onto the nice coat, considering the lawlessness of Harding these days. It should have been stolen by now.

Her innocence certainly was.

But not her scruples, apparently.

Look at how she clutches at the sides of her jacket, giving me that prim and proper expression? The rich girl still hasn’t learned her place, despite her obvious hardships. She might be fucking beautiful, but she’s buttoned up. A prude. How any man convinced her to lie with him is beyond me. But…I find I’d like to track the fucker down and choke him for not stepping up and handling his responsibilities.

For daring to touch her in the first place.

That wayward thought sneaks out, catching me off guard.

I shake my head to rid myself of it. What she’s done—and with whom—is none of my business. I’m not a defender of women. I’m not a protector. I feel nothing. Sympathy is a concept that flew the coop for me years ago—and it’s going to stay gone.

Bottom line, whatever annoyingly raw instincts this woman rouses in me don’t matter.

She’s going to refuse my offer.

So be it.

I’ve gone years without being touched and I’m more than content to carry on alone forever. Alone is the smartest place to be. Although…I won’t deny my cock wants very badly for her to say yes. That she’ll move in and warm my bed. The long-neglected shaft is weighing down the crotch of my briefs, distended and swollen at the sight of her full mouth. The youthful glow of her skin. What I can see of it, anyway. Most of it is hidden by the fucking coat.

She’s going to say no. Obviously.

If she wanted to make an income on her back, she could have already accomplished that in town. She’s young and attractive. Gorgeous, really, I realize with a stuttered breath when the moon emerges from behind a cloud. And she’s been crying.

I staunchly ignore the tug in my chest.

No. Don’t take back the crude offer.

Let her refuse and leave with the child.I can go back to reading my book and drinking my whiskey. I don’t want her to step over this threshold. The last several times I allowed someone to bridge that gap, I was sorely disappointed in the outcome. She’d be a disappointment, too.

So why am I holding my breath to hear her decision?

And why is there something oddly…familiar about her?

Have I come across her picture in the newspaper for some reason?

“If I…sleep with you, you’ll feed him? There’s a room here to call his own?” She chews on her lip, trading a glance between me and the child, pulling that coat ever tighter. Probably scandalized by the proposition. She probably swore off sex after the first time. I’m sure whatever rich idiot got her pregnant didn’t bother to satisfy her in the process.

I would.

A bead of sweat travels down my spine.

“That’s correct,” I say, positive she’s never going to agree.

Not this girl who refuses to show a hint of skin.

Not this girl who can barely make eye contact with me without blushing.

Maybe she wouldn’t even accept satisfaction. Maybe she’d be stiff as a board beneath me in bed, counting the minutes until it ends, refusing to succumb to the needs of the flesh.

I’m not going to find out.

“And while I’m here…I can travel outside of Harding to look for work. When…w-when you aren’t in need of my, um…”

Several seconds pass. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘pussy.’”

She inhales roughly at that, her grip on the coat becoming all the more strict. I’ve scandalized her, all right. How is it possible this uptight girl is a mother—

“Okay,” she whispers, giving a firm nod. “I’ll do it. Is there coffee?”

Before I can process the fact that she’s agreed to fuck me on command, Chloe is scooping up the child once again and ducking past me into the house.

What the hell just happened?

Dumbfounded, I close the front door and turn to face her. She rocks the child in her arms, and now that she no longer has her hands free to close the coat, a swath of ripe flesh is exposed. An elegant throat, tempting cleavage. A strawberries and cream complexion. Two round tits that would overflow my big hands ever so slightly. Christ, I can see those tidy curves now and I covet them. In the glow of the lamp, her hair is a dark blonde-caramel color that reminds me of a glass of brandy held up to the light.

A stunning creature.

No pretending otherwise.

My dick is at full mast now, hoping against hope that she means it. That she’ll be my bedmate in exchange for the safety of her child.

But…no. I still don’t buy it. Perhaps she plans to sneak a good meal, down some coffee and leave without paying the piper. Yes, I’m sure that’s what she’s planning. I should demand to ride her upfront, just to make sure I get my pound of flesh, but I find myself unable to be that much of a bastard. Just this once, I’ll be decent. She’s obviously hungry and freezing. I’m not going to treat her like a goddamn prisoner.

“Yes, girl. There is coffee, but it isn’t made. I prefer whiskey in the evenings.”

“Oh, I’ll gladly make it, thank you,” she breathes, brightening. Twisting something inside of me. Something like guilt for tearing up her letter.

Damn, I wish I’d read it now. It might have given me information about her. I find I’d like to know…everything. But I don’t want her to get the wrong impression that I give a shit. When I show compassion, that’s when people take advantage. That’s when they pounce. When they begin to see an advantage to knowing me, having my sympathies.

Not going to happen this time.

“Is there somewhere I can put Curtis?” she asks.

“Curtis,” I repeat, clearing my throat. “Yes. There is a room beneath the stairs.” I jerk my chin in that direction. “It was a nursery when I moved in, though the crib has been replaced by a regular bed. Will that work for him?”

“Considering he’s been sleeping on stacked boxes, I’d say so.” She’s almost cheerful while imparting that dreadful piece of information. Exactly how bad has it been for this young girl? How could her family abandon her to the whims of Harding? Where is the fucking father of this child? I’d like to bury my fist in his face for more than one reason. None of which I want to explore. But I’m finding it very hard to be my usual remote self around Chloe.

As soon as she tries to flee without visiting my bed, her true colors will be revealed.

She’ll out herself as a greedy beggar like everyone else.

Goddammit, her arms look like they’re about to break under the weight of the sleeping child. Did she carry him all the way here?

Why did I tear up that fucking note?

“Go put Curtis to bed,” I say, harsher than intended. “I’ll make the coffee.”

She sighs happily. “Thank you, sir.”

“Sebastian,” I correct her.

Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, making my cock feel intensely confined in my briefs. “Sebastian,” she murmurs. “That would be lovely.”

“Can I take your coat?”

You’re only asking because you want a glimpse of her ass. Not because you’re suddenly a gentleman again.That ship has sailed—and good riddance.

A flare of panic goes up in her hazel eyes. “No, thank you. I like to keep it on.”

“It’s wet.”

“I realize that.”

My right eye ticks. “In order for me to fuck you, Chloe, you’ll need to remove it.”

Twin spots of pink appear on her cheeks, a shudder wracking her frame. Just like I thought. She’s squeamish about sex. Good thing she’s going to back out before we ever make it upstairs to my bedroom. Otherwise I’d be forcing this young mother to do something she didn’t want—and I might be an asshole, but I draw the line at physical assault. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, won’t I?” she says, almost to herself, then turns to carry her son from the foyer into the small room beneath the stairs.

I stare after her with a notch in my throat, wondering once again exactly how difficult life has been for Chloe. But it’s not my business or my problem, so I stuff the worries into a box that overflows with the ugliest of feelings inside of me, sealing the lid on tight once again. And I go to make coffee. By the time she joins me in the kitchen, the coffee has dripped its last drop into the pot.

“How do you take it?” I ask.

“Just black, please,” she says, awestruck at the steaming mug I slide toward her across my kitchen island. Breathing in the steam for a few seconds, she takes a sip and moans, knotting every muscle in my abdomen. “Delicious.”

“I bet you are,” I rasp, adjusting my erection, though the bulge is hidden by the kitchen island. Thank God. I can’t have her thinking I’m stupid enough to believe she’s going to be spreading her legs for me. “Why did you choose the night of a rainstorm to carry Curtis all the way up the hill?”

She sets down her mug. “I had no choice. They were…well…extra determined tonight. To get into our apartment. Barricading the door wasn’t working anymore. There were too many of them. I bundled up Curtis and climbed out the window, down the ladder—”

“Wait. Hold on, back to the beginning, girl. Who was extra determined? Who in God’s name did you have to barricade your door against?”

Her swallow is audible in the silent kitchen, no other sound expect for the raindrops landing on the window panes. “The men that drink in the bar next door. I can mostly avoid them during the day, since we work in different parts of the factory. But after they drink too much at night, they begin to grow…aggressive. It’s sort of like mob mentality, you know? Until tonight, they just banged on the door and yelled at me to come out, but they’ve never tried to break in by force before.”

A nerve pulses dangerously behind my eye. “They wanted to break the door down to reach you. So they could…”

“Yes,” she says quietly, before taking a long sip of coffee and putting the mug back down. Squaring her shoulders. “But there’s no use dwelling on what didn’t happen. Only what could happen. Possibilities are endless if you look in the right places.”

“I assure you, girl, I’m definitely the wrong place.”

Some of her aplomb wavers. “Well, then at least I got to drink a hot coffee.”

Suddenly, I wish like hell I had more than one flavor of the stuff. A dozen for her to choose from. Vanilla, hazelnut. All I have is plain coffee, but I want to see her react to other kinds. Every kind. “Are you always this optimistic?”

“No. Sometimes I have to fake optimism until the real stuff kicks in.” She shakes her head, shrugs. “That’s everyone, though, isn’t it?”

“No.” I’ve never felt like more of an ogre than I do in front of this ray of sunshine. Yet I only want to move closer and bask in the warmth. Instead, I grip the edge of the kitchen island to keep myself stationary. Lest she know she’s getting to me. That the soft way she shares herself, her unclouded philosophies, is eroding the concrete slab that guards my insides, leaving me vulnerable—a feeling that simply doesn’t work for me. “But I can only speak for myself. I’m alone here. I don’t exactly get a chance to observe a lot of human behavior.”

“Is that by choice?”

“Yes,” I say, too harshly, making her inhale quickly.

“You weren’t always…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“I wasn’t always what?”

“Hardened.”

My heart starts to beat faster. “How do you know?”

“I don’t,” she says quickly, staring down into her coffee. “It’s just a guess.”

The fact that she pointed out how firmly I’ve taken root in the darkness doesn’t sit well with me. I know. I already know I’ve become a bitter hermit. I’m comfortable in this skin. But seeing it through someone else’s eyes—beautiful hazel ones, to be exact—forces me to examine exactly how far I’ve fallen into this black pit of solitude and avoidance.

“Well, I’m hardened now, girl.” I circle around the island, letting her watch as I grip my erection crudely through my fly. “Very hard, actually. Let’s go upstairs so you can do something about that, like you agreed. Unless you’d like something to eat first?”

“No,” she says, her eyes riveted by the jacking strokes of my hand. Probably disgusted by them. Right now, I’m sure she’s plotting her escape route. She still hasn’t even taken off the coat. There’s no way she ends up in my bed tonight. All I’m doing is calling her bluff, while deep down, I’m hoping for a miracle. I’m hoping to bury myself inside of her. Deep. God, so deep.

“Then take off the coat and we’ll go,” I say, goading her into proving me right.

She can’t hide her alarm. “C-can’t we talk a while longer?”

I smirk in triumph. Chloe only seems confused by my expression, but I know she’s simply trying to keep up the ruse. “What is there to talk about?”

“You, for one,” she answers after a pause. “You’re pretty famous in Harding, living in this big house and all, but since you never spend much time in town, no one knows where you came from or…your likes and dislikes—”

“My likes and dislikes are of interest?” I interrupt, amused.

Her cheeks color slightly. “Sure.” She manages to hold my gaze. “It’s like that in a small town. When you walk into a shop or restaurant, the owner already knows what you want and where you like to sit. And which customers to keep separate, if they’re the feuding.” Her attention dips to the floor. “When I was younger and Harding was still flourishing, my mother used to work in the diner. She knew everyone’s preferences.”

“She doesn’t work there now?”

“No,” she whispers, swallowing. “She took a job at the factory like everyone else and suffered when they started laying people off. By then, there were no other jobs to be had.”

“The factory was a blessing and a curse, sounds like.”

“You’d be right about that, sir.”

“It’s Sebastian,” I correct her, finding I want to hear my name in that bright, girlish tone of hers. In fact, I’d like to hear her moan it. Now. “Where is your father, then?”

She shrugs a single shoulder. “I don’t know. I never met him.”

A ripple goes through me at that. Pity followed by something else. Something darker and covetous. I’m not sure what it means. Only that she has no father and I’m now encountering an obscene interest in stepping into that void. In a way that isn’t at all fatherly, but still fulfills the caretaker roll. The provider. Which is insane, right?

I’ve only just met the girl.

Needing a distraction from interest that is growing at an alarmingly rapid rate, I give in and answer her earlier question. “I like solitude, books and Johnny Walker—Black Label. I dislike people. I trade stocks and that takes up a significant amount of time. I don’t care where I’m seated in a diner, because I don’t go out.”

“Why?”

“Because out is not in. And in is where I avoid the expectations of others. It’s where I avoid their disappointment, as well as my own.” The back of my neck is beginning to feel tight. I’m being prodded at—albeit sweetly—in my own kitchen and I’ve had just about enough. “As for where I came from, that’s nobody’s business but mine. Lose the coat, Chloe.”

Immediately, she nods. As if well aware she’s pushed it far enough.

Perhaps…she wasn’t bluffing about warming my bed?

Is that possible?

If so, will I follow through?

Yes. Yes, I won’t be able to help it.

I’ve given her and the child a place to sleep and plan to keep my word and assist them more tomorrow. Right now, however, I want to fuck this girl with the superbly formed mouth and eyes designed to drive a dagger through a man’s heart—if he had a heart. Which I don’t.

Her fingers begin popping open the buttons of her coat, one by one, her teeth buried in that bottom lip. And Jesus, she wasn’t playing me. This is happening. She’s going to keep her word. She’s treating me to the world’s most innocent strip tease and somehow the slow removal of the coat turns me on more than if she was removing silk lingerie.

It doesn’t escape me that her fingernails are nubs and her hands are slightly dirty, nicked and red in spots. Guilt begins to creep in slowly, but when she drops the coat, lust comes swinging in like a wrecking ball.

“Oh fuck.” My balls squeeze painfully and I have to concentrate on not ejaculating against my fly at the sight of her juicy tits, the generous swells of her hips. She’s in need of a few meals, but in no way is she skinny. She’s compact and curvy. Delicious. The pale blue dress she’s wearing does not fit her at all. It’s a rag that hides nothing. Not the big, beautiful tits about to spill free of the soaked material, nor her thighs, which quiver under my stare, pressing together. Just asking to be pried apart. “I was going to make sure you’re eighteen before I laid a finger on you, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” I settle my hands on her waist, tracing my palms along the hills and valleys of her sides. “This isn’t the body of a teenager.”

“Only a month has passed since my eighteenth birthday.” She’s fascinated by the path of my hands, watching them closely, her breath coming faster and faster. “My mother told me I matured young.”

“Then I suppose it’s no wonder the drunks have been trying to knock your door down,” I rasp, giving in to temptation and closing my hands around her breasts, surprised when she arches her back and whimpers. “Jesus Christ, I’d have tried picking your lock myself,” I say thickly, thumbing her nipples into little peaks through the bodice of her dress, floored by the utter perfection of her. She’s a fantasy come to life, right here in my fucking kitchen. A siren. Somehow I was completely wrong about her intentions. All along, she’s planned to follow through on her promise. Not only that, it appears she has every intention of enjoying it. How is it possible my instincts were so far off? I don’t know, but I’m too horny to examine her behavior too closely. I just need to get balls deep in her pussy. Now. Right the hell now.

“Fuck.” I lean down and harass her neck with my open mouth, my hands dropping to her hips to yank her up against me. “I’m going to rut you silly, girl.”

“Yes,” she breathes, her tone going from shy to eager. “I know it’s bad. I know I’m bad. But I finally want to know w-what it feels like.”

In the haze of my need, I assume Chloe means she wants to know what good sex feels like. Perhaps it has only disappointed her before—and Christ, the thought of disappointing her is unbearable. But I’m not in any state for forepay or flirting or kissing, even. I’m close to spilling just from having our bodies pressed together, her plump tits pillowed against my chest, her skin so rosy and tempting. “Just let me get a quick one,” I manage to grit out, hurriedly unzipping my fly. “Need a fast fuck to take the edge off, girl. Pull up the dress.”

“Sebastian, I’m a—”

“Don’t make me wait another second.” I back her against the island, dragging up the material myself. Up smooth, pale thighs that demand attention I can’t give them right now, because Jesus, Jesus, she’s not wearing any panties. There in the low light of my kitchen is a damp little slit barely hidden by a dusting of hair, so tight looking, I have to throw my head back and growl through clenched teeth. I’m not even going to make it inside of her before I explode. “Young little thing, aren’t you?” I breathe, positioning my freed cock between her legs, dragging the turgid shaft up and back in the soaked valley of her pussy while she gasps. “Bet you need a Daddy, don’t you, Chloe? Is that right? Did you come here to find your Daddy?”

A rippling shudder goes through her, those hazel eyes glassy and unfocused. “I don’t know.” She sucks in a breath, arching her back when I make contact with her clit. “I…d-did I?”

“Yes. You did.” God help me, I have no idea where this Daddy shit is coming from. But as soon as the word is out of my mouth, a sense of purpose settles on my shoulders. I’m bigger and older than her and there’s something natural about slipping into the role of her protector. Her provider. The one who sees to each and every one of her needs. Guides and teaches her.

Next time.

Next time I’ll go slower, push her, give her so much pleasure she can’t stand it.

This time is all about getting the lead out of my balls.

“Take the pain away, Chloe,” I grind out, dipping down slightly and notching my cock against her little wet hole, then I surge up, pinning her against the side of the counter—and my fucking world tilts on its axis, the room seeming to inhale and exhale around me, the walls closing in and expanding. Tight. She’s infinitely tighter than I expected. Tighter than I knew was possible. So narrow and snug, I feel the clench of her cunt all the way to my goddamn throat. She’s screaming into my shoulder, her thighs jerking around my hips, and the truth…the truth is like a fist smashing into my skull. “Virgin.”