Chapter 2

two

Flynt

Control yourself.

I repeat those two words to myself day in and day out. Whether Ayla is in the vicinity or not, I must concentrate on my behavior. Focus on reining in these impulses that apply only to her. Impulses that feel as though they’ve existed in me since the beginning of time.

Get inside of her.

Get her pregnant.

Claim her forever.

I should be ashamed of myself. The thoughts I have about this innocent fantasy novel enthusiast in her knee socks, driving her sensible Volvo around town, clutching her science textbook to her chest when she walks down the hallway, no idea I want to carry her out of the school over my shoulder and take her in a field, her ankles pressed back to her ears.

They’re sick, my thoughts.

Worse, they’re hereditary.

That’s why I have to resist them at all costs.

Thank God there is another, more powerful force inside of me that helps keep the dark hunger at bay. Love. I’ve loved her since day one of freshman year. When she walked into homeroom, broken from the loss of her mother, but so valiantly brave. So strong and intelligent and full of dreams—I can see them in her eyes on those brief occasions she glances at me. I want to make every single one of those dreams come true.

So I control myself.

My urges are a direct conflict to Ayla’s dreams. That makes them the enemy.

Even now, standing in the silent garage with her tears wetting my thumb, I am going too far. I’m revealing way too much, but I can’t help myself.

She came to me. She finally came to me.

“Y-your angel?” she whispers now.

“That’s right.” Control yourself. The mantra doesn’t quite work this time, unfortunately. Not when she’s standing so close, looking so fucking beautiful and we’re alone. Alone for the very first time. I prop a forearm on the roof of the car and lean down until our foreheads are less than an inch apart. “My. Angel.”

“You’ve never even spoken to me.”

“I speak to you without words, Ayla. And you hear me loud and clear.”

“No, I…I don’t.”

“Oh yes, you do.” Can’t help it, I push a little closer until her tits touch my chest and I hiss in response, finally allowing myself to privilege of touching her forehead with mine. “What do I say to you in class?”

She shakes her head. Wets her lips and takes her time formulating a response. Am I making her dizzy the way she’s making me dizzy? “It’s m-more what you say to everyone else,” she whispers, finally.

“And what is that?”

“Stay away,” she whispers.

My dick is as hard as nails, just hearing her breathe. Feeling the swell of her tits, touching her precious face, finally having her words directed at me. I’m in paradise. “Good girl.”

Is that a soft moan?

No. I can’t be so lucky.

“I don’t understand this,” she says. “I don’t understand what’s between us.”

I’m obsessed with you. I want to put my child in your belly.

The mere fact that you exist drives me borderline insane.

But I’m going to keep my pants zipped if it kills me. Freshman year, Ayla stood in front of the class and gave a presentation about how she plans to travel across Europe, float in the Dead Sea, hike Machu Pichu. I see those aspirations in her eyes every day. Her dreams are going to take her away from me in the not-too-distant future. If I get her pregnant, I will crush those dreams. My father did it to my mother. Saddled her with a baby on purpose, so she would never be able to leave this town. My grandfather did it to my grandmother.

It’s a Porter curse—and I won’t inflict it on my angel.

With every ounce of willpower in my blood, I push away from her and turn my back, my voice thicker than molasses. “It’s probably for the best that you don’t understand what’s between us, Ayla. Just know that if you have a problem, you can come to me and I will fix it.” I look back at her over my shoulder, needing to make sure she grasps the gravity of what I’m telling her. “That will always be the case. Until I’m dead and buried. Understand?”

Her chest puffs quicker. “Why?”

“Ayla.” I shake my head, silently begging her to drop the subject. If I inform her of the depths of my feelings, if I speak them out loud, they’ll consume me. And I’ll consume her. “Let me take a look under the hood. Can you pop the latch?”

She shakes herself free of her seeming trance. “But…it’s just my bumper that’s dented.”

“You said you braked, angel.”

She chews her lip. “I could be mistaken.”

“If you said you braked, I believe you. Something else could be wrong.”

“Oh. I…thanks.” I’m surprised to find gratitude in her eyes as she leans into the passenger side to open the hood. “Thanks for believing me.”

Who wouldn’t believe anything that comes out of this girl’s mouth? She’s honest and forthright. She’s innocence personified. I start to question her, but the hood springs up. After a short hesitation, I lift it the remaining distance, using the metal arm to keep it aloft. I check her fluids, visually scanning for anything amiss. Nothing jumps out at me, so I jack up the car slightly and slide beneath the rear on my wheel board.

Her brakes are shot.

I can see it immediately.

My blood runs cold calculating how long she’s been driving with them like this.

Trying to keep my composure, I wheel back out from beneath the Volvo and stand up, cleaning my hands off on the rag from my back pocket. “Ayla, it’s your brakes. You’re going to need new ones.”

Her breath leaves her in a giant rush. “How much is that going to cost?” She doesn’t even give me a chance to respond before she’s pacing and wringing her hands. “It’s going to be a fortune, isn’t it? Especially including the bumper. My father is going to be so disappointed in me. He fixed it up and gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. This car was my mother’s. This is all I have of hers. He’s never trusted me with anything this important.”

Why the hell not?

This is not the first time I’ve had negative thoughts about her father. The first time was when I found Ayla’s mother’s car under a bunch of garbage in their shed. I couldn’t stop myself from driving it out of there. Fixing it up for Ayla. No matter who got the credit.

I just wanted her to be happy.

“Your brakes weren’t working properly, Ayla. That’s why you hit the pole.” The blame she’s placing on herself makes my chest ache. “It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t afford to fix the bumper, let alone the brakes.” Before I know what’s happening, she’s lunging for the driver’s side. “I shouldn’t even have come here. I can’t pay you—"

“Whoa whoa whoa.” I catch her around the waist at the last second, lifting her feet off the ground. I carry her to the front of the car, savoring every second of her back against my chest, and I settle her backside onto the hood. Allowing my hips to occupy the space between the open V of her thighs is a monumental mistake, but it’s one my body makes without consulting me. I’m a large man, so my lower body presses open her legs even wider than I anticipate and…fuck. Fuck.

It happens. I see her panties.

Sheer beige ones.

Her virgin slit is visible through the thin mesh and I shudder, my testosterone clamoring so loudly it almost drowns out the voice of reason.

Control yourself.

Focus on the issue at hand. Focus. For her.

“I told you I would fix your problem, didn’t I?” I ask hoarsely, tilting her chin up. “It’s going to take me a little time to find these brakes, okay? This is an old Volvo. But I will find them and make your mother’s car as good as new. I just need a few days.”

“But…won’t it cost you a ton of money?”

“You let me worry about that.”

Our mouths have gravitated closer to each other. I can taste the sweetness of her tongue and I’m not even kissing her. I can’t kiss her. I’ll lose control. I’ll give in to my urges and plow a baby right into this sweet angel. Even now, I’m sweating, dying of thirst, my cock rigid. One time is all it would take and she’d be carrying my kid. I’d have her. She’d be mine.

These illicit thoughts are causing my hands to move of their own accord, sliding up the outsides of her bare thighs. Stopping just short of lifting her skirt all the way to her hips, my fingers balling into tight, shaking fists.

“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows drawing together. “I see.”

“You see what?” I question her, raggedly.

“Sex,” she whispers, her face painting itself pink. “You want to have sex with me in exchange for fixing the car.”

I’ve never had the devil inside me sink his teeth in so deep.

Her assumption is incorrect, I would never ask for sex from this girl in exchange for a favor. Doing a favor for Ayla is the honor all by itself. But what if I was that depraved? Would she go through with it? Would she let me fuck her on the hood of this car?

I moan into her neck just picturing it. Her skirt up around her waist, those knee socks crossed on the small of my back, my cock burying itself over and over again in all that tight angel flesh. Releasing my come so deep that not a single drop could escape afterwards.

What if I just tested her intentions?

Would she fulfill my fantasies in order to repair this car?

You are a fucking scumbag.

You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Sick motherfucker. Get your head right.

“I’m not trading car parts for sex, Ayla,” I say, forcing my palms down flat on the hood. “And if a man ever asks for your body as payment, you come find me so I can kill him. I’ll bring you his fucking head on a platter.”

Her lips part as she struggles to play catch up. “You’re just going to do it…for nothing?”

“Not for nothing. For you.” God help me, her eyes turn a little dreamy and I’m back to wanting to hike up her skirt. See how fast I can make her moan. “I just need a few days, angel.”

She blinks rapidly, visibly shaking herself. “That’s fine. My father is out of town on business until next week—”

I clap a hand over her mouth. “Are you out of your mind telling me that?” I lean forward bringing us eye to eye. “Ayla, do you realize how goddamn beautiful you are? You can’t just go around telling men you’re going to be home alone.”

“Normally I wouldn’t,” she whispers, when I take my hand off her luscious mouth. “I’m not thinking straight.”

My groan comes from the pit of hell. “Why? Tell me.”

She shakes her head, her color deepening.

I gnash my teeth. “Ayla.”

“I’m not thinking clearly, b-because I can tell you want to kiss me.”

Spend overflows from the head of my cock and I slam my hips against the front of the car to cause myself pain in order to restrain myself. It doesn’t do a damn bit of good, though, and I continue to throb angrily against my zipper. I should back off right now. Go handle my erection with a vigorous fist while I think about ripping off those nude-colored, mesh panties with my teeth. She acknowledged my attraction to her out loud. We’re finally here and it’s almost too much to bear. “Yeah. I do want to kiss you. To start. Do you know how long I’ve wanted that?”

“Freshman year?” she whispers.

“That’s right.”

A little shiver passes through her, as if she’s caught off guard by my honesty. “Why don’t you ever…try?” Her brow quirks with curiosity. “Or ask me out on a date?”

Oh. My sweet, innocent girl. “It’s complicated, Ayla.”

She straightens her back. “I can keep up.”

Her tits are still bouncing after sitting up straighter so quickly and I watch them, salivating like the wolf in a fairy tale. She has no idea what she does to me. Every move, every wiggle, breath and flutter of her eyelashes is Armageddon. “I’ve never asked you out on a date because I don’t want to split a pizza and make small talk. That’s too ordinary for us.”

Ayla processes this slowly. “Then what would your ideal date with me…look like?”

“My answer is going to scare you. I would rather blow my brains out than do that.”

“I won’t be scared.” And then she does something I never could have expected. Breathing nervously, she lifts her right hand and runs featherlight fingertips down the front of my work shirt. “Tell me.”

My control falters and I struggle to regain it, but I can’t. Before I am aware of my own movements, I’m grabbing the sides of her skirt and yanking her pussy tight against my lap. Leaning over her on the hood of the car while she stares up at me, wide-eyed. “It starts with our wedding and you taking my last name.” I lick across the seam of her mouth. “It ends with your panties my floor and the police showing up because you’re screaming so goddamn loud in my bed, the neighbors think I must be killing you.”

I watch her pupils dilate into black saucers and immediately regret every single word that just came out of my mouth. Ayla came here because she needed help. Not to have her innocent mind tarnished with the filth that’s floating through mine.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I have no right talking to you like that—”

“Why would I scream?” she interrupts, her tits heaving. “Would it hurt?”

My heart squeezes like a tomato in a vise. “I will never, ever hurt you. Do you understand me?”

She nods vigorously.

Does she have any idea her knees keep lifting, lifting, bringing her thighs up around my hips? Or is she doing it without thinking?

I press my lips against her ear and whisper, “You’d be screaming because it feels so good when I fuck you, Ayla.”

Her inner thigh muscles jump against my hips and I drop my face into her neck, groaning. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Careful, baby,” I groan. “Or I’m going to prove it on the hood of this car.”

Is it my imagination or is she tugging me closer now by the material of my coveralls. “Have you changed your mind about taking sex for payment?”

“No,” I manage hoarsely. “I haven’t changed my mind. It’s payment enough just to look at you. To be this close to a masterpiece.” I rake my mouth up the valley of her tits, inhaling her incredible scent. Memorizing her texture. “I’ll repair your car and ask for nothing but a smile in return.”

She’s restless beneath me, writhing between me and the car. A little more of this and I’ll come in my pants. Jesus Christ the way she moves. “And then what?” she asks, her fingers plowing into my hair in a way that I’ve always imagined her doing. So often that I can barely breathe now that it’s happening. “And then we go back to never talking? Just sitting near each other in class and pretending this never happened?”

It’s pure and utter heaven hearing her sweet voice in my ear while our bodies are pressed together so intimately. This is what it would be like if we were married and had children. I could have this kind of access to her every single day. “I don’t think I can go back to the way things were now,” I admit, against my will.

Without thinking, I slide a hand under her ass and mold one taut bun in my hand.

She gasps and arches her back, thighs falling wider…and Christ. Christ.

If I don’t stop this now, I’m going to take her virginity right here. Tonight.

I know how it ends.

I swore I’d be the one to learn from the past.

I’m not going to saddle this angel with a baby at eighteen. She’ll eventually hate me. Resent me. The life will drain from her eyes when she realizes the future she could have had if I’d never entered the picture. I’ve seen it happen.

Break the pattern.

With a tortured shout, I pry myself off the sweetest place on the planet and hurl myself across the room, adjusting my dick with a prolonged wince. “I’ll fix the car. You have to go. Go.”

“I…” I turn and watch her slide off the hood of the car, visibly bewildered, her hair a mess. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. God, no. You couldn’t do anything wrong if you tried.” I rake agitated fingers through my hair. “It’s me. I have a sickness when it comes to you.”

“But—”

“Run, Ayla!” I bellow, picking up the closest metal wrench and throwing it back down, rattling the tools laid out on the worktable.

“No!” she shouts back, even though she’s shaking with nerves. “I don’t want to run.”

“What do you want, then, huh?” I fist my cock through my pants. “You want this?”

She blinks rapidly several times, her cheeks turning a deep shade of rose. “What if we t-try going on a date?” I stare at her incredulously, positive I heard her wrong. “We can find a happy medium between splitting a pizza and…and…the thing you said.”

“Making you scream so loud the neighbors call the police out of concern?”

“Yes, that,” she whispers unevenly.

Is this really happening? Or is this one of my Ayla fantasies and they have slipped even more into unrealistic territory than usual? “Why would you want to go on a date with a man who wants that kind of shit from you?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I was sort of hoping to figure out.”

“On our date,” I bite off, heart slamming side to side in my throat.

“Yes.”

“No.” Hold on. Just a little bit longer. “I’m fixing your car and that’s it. I’m saying no for your own good.”

“If you just wanted to fix my car, you shouldn’t have touched me. Because now I…I think I want more.” She presses her palms to her flaming cheeks. “I guess I’ll see you in school.”

I’m a marble statue. I can’t move as she turns and runs out of the garage, her skirt fluttering around her thighs. If I couldn’t detect her scent hanging in the air, I would swear none of the last half hour ever happened. But her presence is everywhere now. On everything. Inside of me, tearing to pieces.

Ayla just saw more than a glimpse of my dark side.

And still…she wants to go on a date with me?

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined it.

I can’t say yes. I can’t allow myself that honor. Because I know where it would lead. Exactly where I said it would. There are no happy mediums. I’m ferocious where she’s concerned. But even as I forbid myself from saying yes to the date…

I find myself caving. Fast.