by Riley Pine
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lora
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I yelp as Max sweeps me off my feet.
“I mean to do tonight right,” he whispers in my ear, deftly opening the front door and carrying me over the threshold without missing a beat.
Hope floods me, and the pleasure is so acute that it’s almost pain. “So does this mean you will leave the Order? That it can be me and you, a simple life at last?” The words don’t taste real on my tongue. I can’t believe this fantasy might come true. The idea practically takes my breath away, then Max slants his mouth over mine and I’m a goner. Our tongues tangle, parry and thrust. It’s like fencing, a fight to the death, hungry and intense, where we will both win or lose, and neither is certain of the outcome. It takes me a few seconds to realize he hasn’t answered my question.
Instead, he grips me tighter with one hand, then leans forward and swipes crockery off the table. There is a sound of porcelain crashing on stone. The air is dusty and smells like dried chamomile and lavender. From my quick scan over his shoulder, I see a sitting room where the furniture is hidden by sheets. They look like ghostly sentinels.
He eases me onto the large farmhouse table.
“Do you know how much you torture me, just by existing?” he growls, smoothing my hair from my face and casting a searching gaze over my features. “Lora, I can’t be near you and not lose my mind.”
I press my finger to his mouth. “You never answered my question.”
He bites me near the knuckle and slowly, seductively licks the sting away. “I know.”
I wait to see where he goes with it, but he seems resolute in his silence. Instead, he presses his lips to my temple, right near my hairline. Then each eyelid. He kisses the tip of my nose, the edge of my jaw, the hollow of my neck.
“Do you know what I hate?” he rasps.
“Evasion?” I quip.
He snorts. “Clothing. And you, love, are wearing entirely too much of it.”
I glance at my less than sexy attire—the hospital scrubs the ambulance driver gave me so I wouldn’t have to wear the sex-club outfit Cain forced me into. Max peels me open gently as if I’m a rare and exotic flower. Each of my garments drops from my body like a petal.
And then I’m down to my hospital-issued panties. With a sharp tug he rips them off before pressing the thin fabric to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Goddamn delectable,” he says, his eyes dark and intense.
“So you have me on the table. Now what are you going to do with me?”
“Feast.” He drops to a crouch and spreads my legs. His tongue dances around my clit in a slow, seductive motion, lapping at the hood before tracing my slick inner lips. Then he fucks me with his tongue, plunging it into my aching heat while pressing the pad of his thumb against the tight rosebud of my ass, shocking me with an unfamiliar sensation that bucks me off the table.
He relents with a smirk. “Dirty girl, I can see you like that.” He nuzzles my thigh. “What else do you like?”
I should tell him to stop, to level with me and let me know if he is going to be mine for forever...or just tonight.
But then he makes his last question rhetorical by slipping a finger into my slit and pressing against the sensitive nerves inside my inner wall, pumping them in a slow, relentless rhythm as he gives my clit a hard suck, pulling from me the first of what I can safely bet will be many orgasms. I’m not finished throbbing when he has his dick out and buries himself in me to the hilt, though he’s still fully dressed. He pumps my wetness before tugging me down and pressing my breasts together, using the moistness from my pussy to coat his cock and lube it for what turns out to be an epic titty fuck.
I lap at his ruddy head as it emerges from my cleavage, grinning when he hisses a breath.
“You’ve liked to be in control, haven’t you, my love,” I whisper. “Always one step ahead of everyone.”
“My life depends on it,” he snarls, slamming me harder. “And yours, too, of late.”
I sit up and shove him hard, sending him off balance, and he lands on the floor with a dull thud. Then I climb off the table and stand above him, my legs spread, my sex in his face.
“What if I ordered you to eat my pussy?”
He doesn’t hesitate before answering. “Your wish would be my command, Lora. Anything you want.” His lips curl into a crooked grin. “But I know how you love a good rogering.”
“Rogering.” I laugh in surprise. “Who uses that word anymore?”
“Me. Right now,” he quips. “Now, are you going to use me like I know you want to?”
“Oh...you have absolutely no idea.”
I fall to my knees, straddling his thighs, and take him inside me in one sharp thrust.
“Jesus. Fuck,” he growls, his eyes wide.
“I should wash your mouth out,” I purr, removing his silk tie from around his neck. Then I push it between his lips as a gag, which I tie behind his head in a deft knot.
All the while I rock and roll my hips, a slow undulation that I intensify by milking him with my inner walls.
Max’s eyes roll in his head as I work him harder, faster. I use him for my basest needs—I want him to know how it feels to only have part of me, since that’s all I can have of him. And yet I can’t keep emotion from what I do. Because I love this man. I am ready to give everything to him, and yet I’m still held back because I don’t know if he’ll meet me halfway or if he’ll run away forever.
X
I let Lora take what she wants from me, just like I did all those times we met anonymously. I left her, and I own that. But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t ass over elbow in love with her the day I vanished and broke her heart.
For half my life, I’ve tried to put her out of my head. Because the Order came first. When they offered me a career that meant my mother could afford the treatment that would add decades to her life, that she would be free of any financial burden for as long as I served the agency, I couldn’t say no. Not after all she sacrificed to give me a life she never could have had. So I jumped at the opportunity, even if it meant giving up a certain part of my life. Anything or anyone else taking priority over the Order would be a liability to me and a danger to whomever might hold that rank.
So I spent my early adult years doing anything I could to push Lora as far from my mind as possible. I was hardly celibate. Instead I dived headfirst into meaningless encounters for the dual purpose of either satisfying my basest needs or acquiring much-needed information.
But the moment she was back in my life, it was as if she never left.
Because she never had.
As the final orgasm rocks through us both, she collapses over me, her face buried in my neck.
“Max,” she murmurs against me. “Oh God, Max.”
For a while we lie like that, me stroking her sweat-dampened hair, until she finally rolls off me.
“Where can I get cleaned up?” she asks matter-of-factly.
I reach behind my neck and untie my silk gag. “Bathroom is down the hall and to the right,” I say. “But Lora—”
She doesn’t wait for me to finish as she gathers her strewn clothes and takes them with her. The last thing I see is her beautiful, perfect ass before she disappears around the corner.
I’m left alone with my thoughts and my half-hard cock hanging out of my pants. I chuckle at what a sight I must be, my multiple cuts and bruises, and my exposed cock.
What a fucking life this has been. What would it be to stop, to put it all behind me for something stable and normal?
I clean myself up and follow Lora back to where the bathroom and two bedrooms hide on the west end of the cottage, only to find her curled up in my childhood bed, wrapped in a quilt my mother made, sound asleep.
I rap softly on the door frame, and she stirs but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Lor
a?” I say softly.
“It’s okay, Max,” she says, her voice heavy with sleep.
I kick off my shoes and climb into the small bed behind her, snaking my arm beneath her and pulling her tight.
“It was never okay,” I whisper, but this time she doesn’t stir.
Her rhythmic, deep breaths tell me she’s asleep, so I let the rise and fall of her chest lull me, as well. It’s just before sleep takes me that everything finally falls into place.
My internal alarm assures I wake along with the rising sun. I leave Lora deep in slumber and take the car to the Paris safe house Cordelia and the team stayed at last night, not giving a shit that I will likely have to wake her to do what must be done.
But when I get to the door and punch in the security code, the door swings open to reveal Her Highness wearing a gown befitting a queen—which I remember that she is—and with a mug of tea in her hands.
“I expected you much earlier than this,” she quips, the corners of her mouth curled into a knowing grin.
“I told you last night to sell the cottage,” I say, and something in my chest squeezes so tight I think my ribs might break.
“You did,” she says. “I was planning on meeting with the buyer this morning.” She looks me up and down and narrows her gaze. “But I suppose you’re here to change all that, are you not?”
I grin. “You found a way to make it work, Cordelia. You have your husband again. Your sons.”
“Only after they spent over two decades thinking I was dead. That was my price for betraying Nightgardin, my home country, for the love of a king. What price will you pay, Max? I live in a palace flanked by guards, and still there is risk. Do you pretend to think a country cottage is as safe? The Order may have Cain, but there are likely others who know your identity now. Lora’s, too.”
This only makes my smile grow wider. “Do you think anyone making an attempt on my or Lora’s lives would walk away with their own?”
She rolls her eyes. “Always so cocksure.”
I wink. “Always.”
* * *
Hours later, I push through the cottage door and slam it shut with my foot, somehow having managed to unlock it even though my hands are full. I’m greeted with a palm slammed against my solar plexus as my back hits the door. A small blade rests against my throat.
“Good morning to you, too, love. Care for a coffee or a chocolate-banana crepe?” Both of which are in my hands.
“Damn you, Max,” she says, backing away. Her chest heaves, and her voice shakes. “I woke and you were gone. I swear I was eighteen all over again, and I thought—I thought...” Tears streak her cheeks, and I realize I’ve fucked up royally. “I know I asked too much of you last night,” she continues. “But I thought I’d at least get a goodbye this time.”
“I’m not gone,” I say softly. “What I mean is, I’m not leaving.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
I set the boxed crepes and coffee on the side table next to the door and approach her slowly, hands raised, not wanting to spook a woman holding a weapon.
“This isn’t just my childhood home,” I say. “It’s mine. I own it now, thanks to my mother. And up until last night, I was going to sell it because I didn’t think I could do it, Lora. I didn’t think I could do what you were asking.”
I reach for the knife still gripped in her white-knuckled fist, and she relinquishes it.
“Why?” she asks.
I shrug and decide that nothing is better than the truth, however ordinary it is.
“I don’t know how.”
She lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t, either, you idiot. But I love you enough to learn.”
I let the knife clatter to the floor and take her into my arms, finally surrendering to what I’ve deprived myself of for too many years. I dip my head, bringing my lips to hers. “I love you enough to learn, too. How do you feel about my home being our home?”
She clasps her arms around my neck and pulls me tight. Then she whispers her words against my lips. “We’re going to need a bigger bed.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lora
MAX FEEDS ME the crepes bite by bite, kissing the chocolate from my lips in slow, leisurely licks. He doesn’t say much, and I’m uncharacteristically silent, as well. My heart is so full that I feel as if words might break me into a thousand pieces. When I’m done with my breakfast, he takes my hand and leads me outside into a cottage garden filled with lavender and rosemary. Ancient apple trees ring a white picket fence, and orange butterflies flit amid rosebushes.
“I feel like a princess in a fairy tale,” I whisper.
He turns to me. “You sure this is enough for you? There will be no assassinations here. No terrorist plots. No bad guys chasing you through city alleys. I hear the most exciting news in these parts is the old farmer, Jean-Luc, up the lane, who often drinks too much sherry and lets his cows escape.”
“I will have to be on my guard.” I grin, tilting my chin up to face the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. “Cows can be very dangerous.”
“You could trip on a watering can.”
“Or fall off a hay pile.”
We look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Will you be bored?” I ask.
“With you in a five-kilometer radius? Never.” He leans in to press a kiss to my temple. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave, and now I can see that wasn’t the reason for my hesitation at all.”
“Oh? What was the real reason?”
“I was afraid of hurting you. It’s my biggest fear. My only fear, to tell you the truth. Every time I’ve ever pulled away from you has been for one reason—to keep you safe.”
“But I can look after myself.”
“Exactly. Which means I was being cowardly as shit. And that didn’t sit quite right.”
“Max the coward?” I tease.
“I’d rather cut off my left nut than let you down.”
“Please don’t.” I step forward and cup him between the legs, squeezing playfully and giggling as he hardens in my hand in an instant.
“You’re like a teenage boy,” I say.
“Around you, I feel like one. All fumbles and awkwardness. And I’m about to make it worse.” He drops to one knee and I press my hand to my mouth as he produces a small black velvet box. “Lora, my love, I’ve spent the better part of two decades committing myself to the Order. But I’m turning away from that path to pursue an even bigger commitment. I want you, all of you, the good and the bad. The simple woman who wants to start a garden and the badass who can kill a man from twenty meters with a thrown blade. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, but loving you was never one of them. And I’m hoping that you’ll give me the honor of my life in agreeing to become my bride.”
I sink to my knees, my legs shaking as my eyes brim, bright with unshed tears. “You were my first love, Max. And you’ll be my last love, too.”
“Is that a yes?” he asks, taking my hand and slipping on the most gorgeous diamond ring I’ve ever seen.
“I can hire a skywriter if that helps,” I quip wryly. “Because my answer is yes, yes, a million times yes.”
“And there’s more,” he says pulling me to him, slanting his mouth over mine for a perfect, pure, gentle kiss.
“What else can there be?” I whisper. “You’ve just given me everything I could ever want.”
“Not quite.” He moves his lips to the side of my neck, fastening his mouth on a sensitive place that makes me squirm with pleasure. “I want to give you a baby.”
My eyes fly open. “Are you serious?”
“Your birth control shot from the Order will be winding down soon,” he says. “And at our age we have a limited window. We have to strike while the iron is hot.”
I tackle him to the ground and cover his face with kisses. “This iron’s hot, all right.”
“A child of our own,” he says with something approaching wonder. “What a wonderful, terrifying thought.”
“Every single day we are together from this point forward, I am going to live an amazing life. You are the sun in my day and the song in my heart. Our first kiss, our first time together, our first I love you. I remember them all. Every memory is cherished.”
He slides a hand under my shirt and palms my breast and my body arches in response. “And we will make so many more.”
EPILOGUE
Max
“MARI? MARI?” I call through the Hall of Mirrors in the Edenvale palace. “Good lord, where has that girl run off to?”
A sneaky giggle drifts from over my head.
I glance up and freeze, heart leaping into my mouth at the sight of my four-year-old daughter sitting astride a stuffed stag’s head near the top of the twenty-foot-high wall.
She wiggles her fingers in a cheeky wave.
“Hi, Daddy!”
I’ve faced down assassins in the mountains of Pakistan. Swum with great white sharks off the Cape of Good Hope. Tested poisons in the Amazon that could kill a man in five seconds.
And I’ve never been so terrified on a daily basis as I am raising a daughter.
I pass a hand over my head, now almost completely silver, thanks in no small part to the little hellion above me. Lora likes the look.
“There you are, darling.” She calls out the greeting as she turns the corner in a knockout red dress. “Did you find her?”
“Uh...up there?” I point.
“Mariam Portia.” Lora’s hands fly to her hips. “What on God’s green earth are you doing up there?”
“Sneaking,” Mariam says smugly.
We named our daughter for both of our mothers. It still gets me when I hear Lora say it—when I realize where we began and how far we’ve come.
