Free Cellar Door by Suzanne Steele

close enough to see what’s going on, using the shadows and the dumpsters as cover. She doesn’t waste any time tucking the cash in her bra and lowering her head to suck his dick. There’s nothing slow or seductive in her work. She’s all about efficiency so she can move on to her next customer.
    His wedding ring gleams as he white-knuckles the steering wheel. He leans his head back against the headrest as she works on this middle-aged family man’s dick. I squeeze my dick through my pants and debate whether or not to join in from a distance -- a silent partner of sorts. I can practically hear Lance’s voice telling me, ‘ No, stupid, don’t leave any DNA behind. ..’
    What is he doing here, anyway, bossing me around, getting inside my head and telling me what to do? Rage rolls through me as I pull a tissue from my pocket and viciously tug at my dick, keeping time with her noisy sucking and slurping. I wish she’d hurry the fuck up. I want to get started.



Chapter Twenty Two
    Liam
    I pause with my fingers wrapped around the basement door handle. I dread her inevitable anger and condemnation. When did I allow myself to care? I think it was the first time I looked into her eyes. Her defiance called to me even then, beckoning me to get closer to this woman and break through the walls that she’s taken a lifetime to build.
    After all she’s been through, I can’t say that I blame her for being so introverted. Children who suffer a traumatic childhood are often unable to bond as adults. The professionals even have a name for it, RAD, reactive attachment disorder. I think she’s a textbook case, which only makes her more of a challenge to me.
    I open the door and amble quietly down the steps, visualizing how this conversation will go. If I learned anything from my forays into sexual fantasy play, it’s that initial communication must be managed carefully. I am doing the groundwork now, setting the stage for an attachment that will go beyond anything I’ve attempted previously.
    As I step off the bottom stair, she slams into me and I stagger, barely able to stay on my feet. She strikes out at me with a bloody hand. I’m more disturbed by the blood running down her arm than the fact that she has somehow managed to get one of her hands free.
    She may have had the element of surprise, but I have the advantage when it comes to sheer strength. I have no trouble overpowering her as I gather her wrists into one hand and slam her back against the wall. I hold her there, pressing myself into her writhing form from shoulder to hip. I take pleasure in wrapping my free hand around her slender neck and squeezing just enough to cause her eyes to widen in alarm.
    “Do your worst, show me how hard you can fight,” I grunt as I subdue her and press my forehead to hers. “You’ll find I’m not the garden variety male, baby. Fight as long and hard as you want, because this? This is foreplay to me. I like it dirty and I like it real fucking rough!”
    I loosen my hold on her neck and savor how she gasps as she struggles to catch her breath. Her skin is like satin as I slide my hand down the neck of her shirt to cup a breast, kneading it roughly as I push my groin into the apex of her thighs. I grind my hips slowly, using her pubic bone to achieve the delicious friction I crave.
    She stills against me and I know she can feel the chemistry that simmers between us. Oh, she would never admit it but she likes this contact as much as I do. I’ll have her craving it soon enough.
     
    Tilting her chin defiantly, she swallows hard before asking, “Why? Why are you doing this? What could you possibly want from me?”
    I return my hand to her neck, but I maintain a looser grip this time as I stroke her velvety skin with the pad of my thumb. She continues frantically, “—you’re a doctor, for God’s sake!”
    “’Oh, physician, heal thyself,’ I chuckle. “Soon enough, you’ll understand what I have come to know: there’s no