Song for the Dead: An Ada Palomino Novel
Page 25
Damn. There goes my heart, skipping a few beats, butterflies tickling my stomach.
Then he adds, “Don’t you dare call me the master of cheese.”
I laugh, head thrown back. “I don’t know, Max. Perhaps you can convince me otherwise.”
“Tell me what I have to do.”
I grin and push down on his shoulders until he’s lying on his back. I sing a line from a Them Crooked Vultures song. “I’ve got a beautiful place to put your face.”
Then I move up along his body, straddling him until his head is between my thighs, my pussy right over his pretty lips.
He reaches over and pulls my underwear to the side.
Runs a stiff tongue over me.
Fuuuuck.
My back arches, lowering myself on his tongue, grinding my hips on his lips. He’s got a great face to ride, that’s for sure.
His hands grab my ass, taking control, moving me up and down on his wide mouth, lips sucking, tongue licking, plunging deep inside me.
“Jesus,” I cry out, my fingers curled around the duvet cover as I lean further back, giving him all access. I reach back to grab his cock, popping it loose from his boxer briefs, squeezing tight.
He moans loudly into me, my body close to exploding.
I can barely keep riding him.
My legs are shaking, feeling weak.
But I feel no pain.
He’s not either.
And the more I stroke him, the more insatiable he gets, full-on devouring me until I’m slipping and sliding and coming on his face.
“Fuck!” I cry out, riding the wave as the orgasm rips through me, then I roll over onto the bed, because I think I’m drowning him.
Oh, no.
He’s fine.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s on me, flipping me over so I’m flat on my stomach with deft hands. He shoves his knee between my legs, grabs hold of the back of my neck to keep me in place.
With one quick thrust, pushes himself inside me to where I’m still throbbing, slippery as sin.
I cry out, grabbing hold of the sheets as his grip on the back of my neck tightens. God, I love this rough, domineering side of him, love the feel of him behind me, his hips slapping against me, making my body quake, the bed shake.
With a jagged moan he pulls out, almost all the way, leaving me begging, and then pushes in again, deeper still. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he says through shaking breath. “I want to come so bad.”
I try to say something witty in response, but I’ve got nothing. No thoughts, no clarity. I choke on my words—they were nonsense anyway—and let out a garbled cry as he keeps up the punishing pace, fucking me faster and faster. We’re moving the bed so hard that the room next door is probably calling the front desk to complain.
A brief smile flashes across my face.
I didn’t know it could be so good.
And yet I did.
There’s nothing between us right now, we’re joined, fused, connected, and not just the energy which simmers and burns. The heat of his hips as they slam against my ass feels like several atomic bombs waiting to go off, the raspy, hungry moans that fall from his perfect lips is a symphony.
The way he moves into me.
Faster, harder.
Wet.
Messy.
Nearly slipping out at this speed, rhythm never breaking.
Then he pulls me off the bed by my neck, shoves his hand under me, finding me where I’m still swollen and—
I want.
I want him.
This.
More.
So much more.
His fingers are quick, slick, his other hand letting go of my neck and scooping up across my chest, holding me back, teasing my nipple, and that’s it.
I let go.
Freefall.
Into the deep.
I’m coming so fucking hard that my mind feels pulled apart, like I might actually go insane, and then there’s nothing left. There doesn’t need to be anything left but this.
I’m incoherent.
Lost.
Found.
Sharp, desperate cries fall from my lips as I pulse around him wildly, and that in turn pushes him over the edge.
“Ada!” he bellows, a savage growl tearing out of him and he’s coming inside me and coming apart just as I am, his fingers digging into my skin, sweat falling on my back. One final brutal thrust and he’s pulling out of me, falling onto the bed beside me.
I can barely move. I’m flattened. Inside and out.
I manage to turn my head to look at him, my cheek pressed against the sheets.
He’s on his back, staring at the ceiling like he’s mind has been blown, sweat gathered on his forehead, chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he says after a moment, voice low and hoarse. He turns his head to face me. “I could do that again and forever.”
I beam at him lazily. “If you play your cards right, maybe you will.”
He closes his eyes, nodding, letting out a long breath. “I’ll play them right.”
I know he will. There’s this deep, solidness to him, ironic for someone who once faded away. There’s a solidness to us, that makes me feel secure, makes my bones ache in the intensity of my feelings for him.
I push myself up and inch closer to him, draping one arm over his chest, cradling his head. I run my fingers through his hair, gazing at his lips, his eyes, as he keeps them closed.
“I think you need a nap,” I tell him, his breathing becoming steady.
“Just need to recharge,” he murmurs.
I kiss his forehead, continue to absently stroke his hair, playing with the strands and—
Holy shit.
“Max,” I say through a gasp.
He opens his eyes and looks up at me. “What?”
“You have a grey hair!”
He blinks. “What?!”
It’s true. There’s a single grey hair near his temple in the sea of red. It wasn’t there before. I know it wasn’t.
“Right here,” I say, giving it a tug.
“Don’t pull it out!” he exclaims.
And then he does something I don’t expect.
He covers his face with his hands, breathing hard.
Oh shit.
Is this good or bad?
I watch him for a moment, putting my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “Max?” I say gently.
He nods, lifting his hands away.
Eyes red, wet with tears.
“I’m okay,” he says, swallowing hard, gasping a little. “I’m okay.”
“Is this…?”
He looks at me and bursts into the most beautiful smile, a smile that gets me right in the heart. “It’s good. It’s good, Ada. This is what I wanted.” He shakes his head in wonder, searching my face. “When you pulled me out of the Veil, that’s when I…I knew that I was never truly free. I never aged after I gave things up for Rose. I died and came back. That’s not a death. But now…this…for the first time…for the first time, I’m free.”
I’m feeling it now too, my jaw getting tight from emotion. “You’re aging. You’re going to grow old.” I take in a deep breath. “You’re going to die.”
“Eventually,” he says, after a beat. “Eventually.”
“Does this mean…I’m not keeping you alive?” I ask him. I can still feel the energy from my palm going into his skin and back.
“I don’t think so,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “But you’re still the reason I’m here.”
I exhale in relief, a weight lifted as I rest my forehead on his shoulder.
He places his hand at the back of my head, holding me to him.
We might get to grow old together, I think.
But I’m not brave enough to voice that fantasy to him.
Not yet.
Right now, he’s here. He’s here to stay.
That’s enough.
Three days la
ter, we emerge from the motel, sexed out, sated, happy.
Max went and “borrowed” a 1970 Chevelle SS. Fire engine red.
We hit the road, heading home.
“So, now that I can handle it, is your sword going to stay at your apartment, or at my house?” I ask, biting the end off a Twizzler.
Max gives me a dry look, brows raised as we pull off I-84, heading toward my house. “Which sword are we talking about here?”
“Mew Mew.”
“Mew Mew?” he laughs. “Well, Mjöllnir is staying with me. But you can play with it any time, sweetheart.”
“You know I will.” Then I pause. “Mew Mew.”
“Mjöllnir,” he repeats.
“You know you say it so well. Let me guess, you speak Norwegian.”
“I speak every language,” he says with a wink. “Uomo del mondo.”
“Italian?”
“Whatever you like, baby. I’m a man of the world.”
I roll my eyes, managing to refrain from calling him the master of cheese again.
Ah, I fucking love it when he’s cheesy. But I don’t tell him that.
After we picked up the Chevelle in New Orleans, we drove back home via a different route, cutting through Utah and Idaho. Max kept the pedal to the metal, and we managed to do the trip in three days.
Suffice to say, both of us have been pretty fucking eager to get home.
Home.
Even seeing the suburbs of Portland has my heart racing and swelling and I’m so excited to have my own bed again, though it’s going to be hard getting used to not sleeping with Max. Actually, that’s going to be agony. I’ll probably end up spending all my time at his apartment; it’s closer to my school anyway.
Though I guess at some point I’m going to have to explain to my dad that I’m seeing Max.
Hmmm. Maybe he can do one last Jedi mind trick on him.
I’m about to joke about this to Max, when he suddenly stiffens in his seat, skin paling.
“What is it?” I ask, peering at him to see if there are flames in his eyes.
They seem fine.
No demons…
He blinks, grip tightening on the wheel, knuckles going white. “I just got a feeling…”
“A feeling?” I repeat, my pulse quickening. “Good feeling or bad feeling?”
He holds my gaze steadily and I can’t read him. “That depends.”
I frown. What does that mean?
But before I can ask him that, we’re pulling down the street toward my house.
And now I’m having the feeling too.
An antenna going off inside me.
Making my stomach churn.
My breath hitch in my lungs.
We pull up right in front of my house.
And that’s when I see it.
See him.
Standing on my front lawn, staring right at us.
“Oh my god,” I say.
“Yeah,” Max says grimly. “Shit.”
It’s Jay.
THE END…
Ah, just kidding. Well, it’s the end of this book but Ada’s story does continue! Make sure to stay in touch for updates about Ada’s next book by:
Following me on Instagram
-> joining my Facebook Group (we’re a fun bunch and would love to have you)
-> Otherwise, feel free to signup for my mailing list (it comes once a month) and Bookbub alerts!
Meanwhile, if you want a little background about how this book came to be, keep reading…
Afterword & Acknowledgments
“You know I polarize,” Josh Homme sings on Head Like A Haunted House. He also says “fucks in short supply” and I related to both those lyrics while writing this book.
Look…it’s been a long time Veiled and I know that some of you might have been totally blindsided by the turn this book took. I don’t blame you. It’s not often a writer introduces a love interest in book one and swaps him out for a new one in the next (though I suppose if you’re to get away with it in any genre it would be paranormal romance and fantasy).
But the thing is, in the years since Veiled, when I finally wanted to revisit Ada’s story, everything seemed to have changed. I’d changed. Ada had changed. I got to spend time with her in Ghosted and Came Back Haunted (which, I’m telling you, you should read if you haven’t already) and I realized that she and Jay needed to break up. It just…had to happen. Sorry guys. At the time I didn’t even think about Maximus because he was dead (or soon to be not dead) but once Ada actually pulled him from the Veil at the end of Came Back Haunted, everything clicked right into place. It made so much sense. That scene, those characters, it was so organic that it was like they were writing it all themselves, and they were pointing me in that direction.
I wanted to run with it.
I wanted to take the risk and switch things up.
I wanted to see the whole “best friends’s little sister” trope but applied to them.
And I got nervous. I got nervous because I’ve done love triangles before and they get intense. Max is a villain to a lot of people (though I’ve honestly always loved him, as I love most villains). He’s been the antagonist to Dex and Perry until the very end. He needs to do a lot to win people over and prove himself. And there’s also some, uh, baggage when it comes to him and the Palominos. Hey, it happens. They made peace with it.
But I also like to write things that aren’t neat and tidy. I liked the twisted idea of Max and Ada together. No, I loved it. It’s like it was…destiny, as the master of cheese would say. Sure, it was messy but…I love mess. Maybe it would piss off a lot of readers but I knew I had to write the book that was calling me, I had to write Ada’s story the way it wanted to play out.
Honestly I jumped into this book headfirst not knowing what to expect. I didn’t set anything in stone. I just let my characters tell me what they wanted to do, let them tell me how they were feeling, and I just let them play.
So that’s what this book feels like to me. Play. With some dark and serious themes of course, but I’ve never had so much fun writing a book before. Fueled by music, caffeine, wine (“Nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol”), the words just flowed out of my fingers from dusk till dawn, riding the high that Ada and Max brought me. And considering I’ve been dealing with depression, anxiety, out-of-control ADHD and writer’s block, this book was such a breath of fresh air.
I’m so glad I stuck to my guns with this one, because I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world. If I’ve upset you with this book, I apologize. I still hope you enjoyed the ride, regardless what “team” you’re on. In the end, I hope we’re all on Ada’s team, and wanting what’s best for her, whatever that may be.
And if you loved this book, fear not.
I wrote this for you.
<3
I don’t have a ton of people to thank since I wrote this in a whirlwind but Laura Helseth, thank you for editing this as I wrote, right along for the crazy ride. Nina Grinstead, thanks for your patience with this release. I know I’ve not been available lol. And Scott and Bruce, you’re forever mine and I’ll be forever yours. Always, evermore, and on and on.
PS Josh Homme, this book wouldn’t exist without you
(please don’t sue me, K? jk jk jk)
About the Author
Karina Halle, a former screenwriter, travel writer and music journalist, is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of The Pact, A Nordic King, and Sins & Needles, as well as over fifty other wild and romantic reads. She, her husband, and their adopted pit bull live in a rain forest on an island off British Columbia, where they operate a B&B that’s perfect for writers’ retreats. In the winter, you can often find them in California or on their beloved island of Kauai, soaking up as much sun (and getting as much inspiration) as possible. For more information, visit
www.authorkarinahalle.com
Also by Karina Halle
Contemporary Romances
<
br /> Love, in English
Love, in Spanish
Where Sea Meets Sky (from Atria Books)
Racing the Sun (from Atria Books)
The Pact
The Offer
The Play
Winter Wishes
The Lie
The Debt
Smut
Heat Wave
Before I Ever Met You
After All
Rocked Up
Wild Card (North Ridge #1)
Maverick (North Ridge #2)
Hot Shot (North Ridge #3)
Bad at Love
The Swedish Prince
The Wild Heir
A Nordic King
Nothing Personal
My Life in Shambles
Discretion
Disarm
Disavow
The Royal Rogue
The Forbidden Man
Lovewrecked
One Hot Italian Summer
The One That Got Away
All the Love in the World (Anthology)
Romantic Suspense Novels by Karina Halle
Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)
On Every Street (An Artists Trilogy Novella #0.5)
Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)
Bold Tricks (The Artists Trilogy #3)
Dirty Angels (Dirty Angels #1)
Dirty Deeds (Dirty Angels #2)
Dirty Promises (Dirty Angels #3)
Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)
Dirty Souls (Sins Duet #2)
Horror Romance
Darkhouse (EIT #1)
Red Fox (EIT #2)
The Benson (EIT #2.5)
Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)
Lying Season (EIT #4)
On Demon Wings (EIT #5)
Old Blood (EIT #5.5)
The Dex-Files (EIT #5.7)
Into the Hollow (EIT #6)
And With Madness Comes the Light (EIT #6.5)
Come Alive (EIT #7)
Ashes to Ashes (EIT #8)
Dust to Dust (EIT #9)
Ghosted (EIT #9.5)
Came Back Haunted (EIT #10)
In the Fade (EIT #11)
The Devil’s Duology
Donners of the Dead