Gluttony

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Awareness hummed across her skin, making everything tight.

  “Baby?” She crawled out of bed and flicked on the side lamp. “Are you okay?”

  He gave a breathy grunt, eyes going down to her bare thighs. She tugged the borrowed Cardinal Studios T-shirt down. It barely covered her bottom, but she’d wanted the lingerie beneath to be a surprise when he came home. With everything that happened with Iman, she needed to feel safe. She needed to be with Tony.

  “Tony,” she tried again. “What happened? You look...” High. Adrenaline soaked. Not himself.

  With her fingers shaking, she went to him and peeled back his face mask to reveal his handsome face, lips hard, nostrils flared. His haggard breath bloomed against her face. She threaded her fingers through his sweaty hair and pushed his hood back. Through it all, he watched, studying, arms never leaving his side.

  “Was it... the creature?” she asked, and he shook his head. “Then...”

  “I didn’t think you’d be here,” he whispered, brows joining in the middle. “When I got home.”

  Now, that hurt.

  “Why the hell not?” The irritation in her tone was inescapable, especially after the evening she’d had. Iman’s demands from the CIA were ridiculous, but she believed she turned the situation around. Iman wanted intel on the Lazarus family, and she was supposed to deliver. She’d put him off for the time being, so she could discuss it with them, but seeing Tony’s post battle condition, she kept that to herself for the moment. He needed her now.

  Trembles shook his body. Blue light flickered up his neck, and in his eyes. She’d seen this sort of reaction on other operatives after high stress, high adrenaline situations. The hormone was still coursing through his body, itching under his skin. He needed a safe release, to come down to earth, and she could help him. The last thing she wanted was a fire in the bedroom.

  “Come here, baby,” she whispered, and brought his mouth to hers.

  She licked along his bottom lip and then sucked the flesh between her teeth. A low groan slipped from him, so she delved deeper with her tongue. Tony’s eyes lidded, he resisted, and then he kissed her back, all in. Two big hands gripped her rear and squeezed. Desire speared through her, hardening the points of her breasts. Taking a step back, she lifted her T-shirt and dropped it to the side.

  Blue heat flared in his hard gaze. He trailed a lazy path down her body. She felt his attention like a caress, going hot everywhere his eyes landed. The mauve lace bra, the matching panties. She palmed his chest, feeling the heat of him through his uniform.

  “Let’s take this off,” she breathed. She looked down at his suit but couldn’t find a zip. “Dammit.”

  He hit the Deadly Seven emblem on his pec. Air whooshed from somewhere, buffeting her face and lifting her hair. When it slowed, she saw the outfit had lost all elasticity and loosened like a melted plastic bag. He stepped out and kicked it aside, attached steel weapons clinking to the floor. Naked beneath, blue light pulsed in veins delineating his body, making his sweat glisten like diamonds. God, he was beautiful. Rock hard abdominals and an even harder erection drew her eyes down.

  She licked her lips. That’s mine.

  Her husky moan of appreciation snapped his restraint, and he rushed her, picking her up by the thighs and throwing her onto the bed. With eyes blazing full of need, he flipped her so she was face down, then dragged her back to him as though she weighed nothing. He gripped her hips and lifted her to her knees, then slid a possessive hand between her thighs and found her damp through the lace. He muttered a curse.

  Grinding back into him, she let out a whimper of encouragement. He plucked her panties to the side and ran his touch along her seam. “Yes, Tony,” she moaned into the sheets.

  And then she felt him there, his blunt edge crowning her, centimeter slow. The anticipation was agonizing. She wanted him to fill her now, but he stopped. He pawed at her buttocks, plumping the flesh. He crowded her body and gripped her hair, twirling it around his palm. Craning her neck, she looked back at him and caught his frown of concentration. He was thinking too hard. His mind was somewhere else.

  “Baby,” she said. “Whatever is going on in your mind, forget it. I’m here. Think about me.”

  His grip on her hair slackened. Strands of hair fell to her shoulders, tickling, adding to the sensations sparking in her body. Then he tugged on her hair, dragging her head back so their eyes could meet. So much raw emotion, and for a split second, she feared he was retreating back into that other person. She didn’t get a chance to ask because when he pushed in a little more, thoughts vacated and she squirmed. Hot breath fanned her neck. But, still, he wouldn’t go all the way in.

  Screw him, then.

  She shoved back, and seated herself with a long, shuddering groan.

  “Fuck,” he bit out.

  “Goddamn it,” she cried. “We’re in this together, Tony. Don’t ever forget that.” Whatever was going on in his mind, he had to share. If he didn’t, then this wouldn’t work. And she wouldn’t let them break. She gave them both a moment to adjust.

  His stuttering breath pulsed along her spine, as though he battled with himself, with whatever he was refusing to share. Her heart clenched. What if something had gone wrong while he was patrolling? What if he couldn’t save someone and they had died, and she’d jumped his bones the moment he’d come home? Maybe he just needed someone to hold him. Or maybe he needed someone to work out his energy on.

  She decided he’d had enough time and started moving herself along his length. Out and in. Out and in. An audible hitch of his breath told her she’d surprised him, or turned him on. The hand on her hip flexed. The one in her hair tightened. What was he thinking? Hard? Slow? Needles pricked her scalp where he pulled, and then using her body and hair as an anchor, he began moving with slow, restrained strokes. That’s right, baby. Let go. His rhythm quickly turned punishing. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Until warmth unfurled in her groin.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “More.”

  More of this every night. More of her giving this hero someone to come home to. More of having someone come home to her. As if hearing her silent proclamation, he drove harder.

  “You’re mine, Bailey,” he grunted near her ear.

  “Yes.”

  His body met hers with unfaltering, jarring force, igniting fire in her veins.

  “Mine,” he growled again.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered, and bit the sheet.

  Her orgasm hit with the force of a hurricane, drowning her senses with ecstasy and skirting the borders of pain. Tony’s thrusts took on a desperate edge. He let go of her hair and gripped her waist, taking her with unforgiving passion until he stiffened and collapsed on her back, rolling their sweaty bodies together into the sheets until they were on their sides. Burying his face into her neck, he kissed her, and then held her cocooned in his iron embrace.

  He stayed like that until his breathing evened out, until she knew she was alone in her wakefulness, knowing that for all his talk about walls crumbling, his were still up, as strong as ever.

  She had to do something to show him how she felt, that it was real, and she couldn’t think of a better way than protecting his family from the CIA.

  Twenty-Nine

  Tony avoided Bailey as much as he could over the next few days, but at nighttime he’d come home from patrol, and she would give him everything he’d wanted. At first, because he’d worked himself into a frenzy thinking she wasn’t going to be there, he took it without question, relieved she was there. But the longer she’d gone without telling him who the man in the car had been, the more his distrust simmered.

  She’d lied to him, or at the very least omitted the truth. No mention of the man, only that her car was scratched up. It was probably his stalker taking it out on her. He needed to sort that shit out. All of it. For now, he had a lunch to get to.

  Walking out of the Lazarus House lobby and into the street, he cracked his neck to release tension. He was star
ving, and the family had asked him to lunch at Heaven. They had news about Bosch and his wife.

  He was in the mood for neither a family meeting, or life in general.

  A week of patrolling had left a brutal handprint on his emotions. What started out like a fun session with Parker, had ended a twisted heap of despair riddled regrets. While Tony had failed to sense deadly gluttony from the plant creature, he’d caught plenty coming from the vilest of humans.

  The first had been a disgustingly fat man sitting before a flickering television, eating a stack of TV dinners, while his anorexic and starving child was locked in a closet, screaming to be let out. Tony had been so furious that he’d pinned the man’s hands to the dinner tray with his fork and knife, and then proceeded to beat him within an inch of his life. Without Parker there to level his head, who knew how far he’d have taken it. In the end, the kid would end up in the foster system, and maybe no better a place.

  The following night, Tony had found a drunk man using a smashed wine bottle to slice up the bartender who’d cut him off. The scene had been like something out of a slasher movie. The worst part—none of the patrons, or even security guards, had stepped in to help before Tony had arrived.

  Each night got progressively worse until Tony stumbled home with sore fists and a raw heart, remembering what had given him the need to numb his mind with drugs in the first place. He’d come home dirty with the feeling of gluttony, and ready to wash it all away with a heavy dose of... something, but when he’d seen Bailey in his bed that first night, his heart had shattered along with his mind. That lingerie. That body. All that was left was for him to do was get lost in her untainted touch. He’d taken her every night, and she’d let him. Until the morning when reality hit and he would slip out before she woke.

  She was keeping secrets.

  Brooding, Tony stepped across the threshold of Heaven, gave a valiant wave to the maître d, and then made a beeline for the private dining room toward the back. With the restaurant at capacity, the sense of gluttony pierced his skin and clawed him down. His footsteps dragged the closer he got to the private room. In a moment of weakness, he wished for Bailey to be at the family gathering so he could touch her smooth skin and siphon his pain away, but like a coward, he’d not invited her. He hadn’t even spoken to her during daylight hours, and there was nothing beyond the general lovemaking directives during the night.

  He was a coward, but drunks always were. Why did he think he’d be different after meeting her?

  Conversation hushed as he passed booths and tables of people. The sudden silence made the kitchen sounds seem to grow in decibel. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tried not to appear approachable. He was in no mood for a selfie today. Getting to the back of the restaurant, he spotted the private dining-room door open with Sloan glaring at him.

  He stopped.

  Uh-oh.

  Word must have gotten around to Max, and then to Sloan. He straightened his spine and continued.

  “So,” Sloan said. “Funny story.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  She placed her palm on his chest, stopping him from entering. “Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this.”

  He ground his teeth. “Fine. What?”

  “Don’t what me.” She looked like she would hit him, but that wasn’t really Sloan’s style. It was Liza’s. He glanced through the door to see if his other sister was there and breathed a sigh of relief when she wasn’t. The girls were bossy.

  “What the hell, dumbass?” she snapped. “Please tell me you’re not being a jerk to Bailey already.”

  Oh ye of little faith. He could get much worse. “Why, what has she said?”

  “She came around looking for you, three times this week.” She held up her fingers. “And you’ve been conveniently out of touch.” When he didn’t respond, she pulled a burner phone from her pocket and shoved it into his palm. “Because you seem to have forgotten how to buy yourself a new phone, you can have this one. Bailey’s new number is programmed into it.”

  “Stop trying to solve my problems. I’m a big boy.” He scowled at the cell phone. It was a leash on his monkey-chain and one he’d blessedly done without. The moment the studio, and everyone else got their hands on his number, demands would come rolling in.

  “God, you’re a dipshit. Did you know that her car got scratched up by your crazy stalker? The one you keep fobbing off as being no big deal?”

  Yeah, he knew. So what?

  His sister’s eyes narrowed. “So you knew the word ‘slut’ was the word scratched into her car. You knew that, right? I mean, your girlfriend becomes the center of focus in your public life, and you look after her, right?”

  Sloan’s words dulled as blood rushed in his ears. Slut?

  Why hadn’t Bailey told him?

  Because you haven’t been available.

  He shut his eyes to take a moment. When he opened them, Sloan’s gaze had softened. “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here, bras. You know that, right?”

  She watched him perceptively until, startled, he realized she was reading his emotions.

  “Stop doing that,” he growled. “My feelings are private.”

  She threw up her hands. “Can’t help it if you’re broadcasting your mope about the place.”

  “Tony?”

  A female voice had them both turning around. Tony frowned.

  “Peta?”

  The assistant from the studio.

  She smiled warily at Sloan and then met Tony’s eyes. “I’ve been trying to contact you.”

  “He lost his phone,” Sloan explained.

  Tony gave her a look and then hooked an arm around Peta. “Let’s go outside and talk, where my nosy sister can’t hear.” And where she can’t put the guilt trip on him. He was doing a good enough job of that himself.

  He could have sworn he heard Sloan’s raspberry behind his back as he guided Peta to the exit. They stopped in the area just outside the Lazarus House lobby. Folding his arms, he looked down at her. The doors to Hell on the opposite side were closed, and a bum reclined before it. His dirty face was shadowed by a hat, and a garbage bag covered his body. Tony shifted his eyes back to Peta.

  “What’s up?”

  “Um.” A blush colored her cheeks.

  He waited. She turned shy. Sometimes he had this effect on women. It wasn’t a brag, just a truth. They got shy, they stuttered, and they swooned. Bailey never swoons. He smiled inwardly. She’d never balked like Peta.

  Forcing his tension to ease so he appeared less pissed off, he unfolded his arms and took a deep breath, letting it out slow.

  “Is it the studio?” he asked.

  This time, a nervous expression flickered across her face and Tony thought, maybe there’s something else going on here.

  “I just—” she started, hesitated. “I’m not supposed to know this, and I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I overheard Donatello speaking with Chet.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrows winged up.

  “You’re being dropped after this movie. I heard Donatello ask to not let you know until after the premiere. He said you’re too much drama, you’ve cost him too much, and he wants you done in this industry.”

  “The premiere is tomorrow night,” was his first dumb response.

  She nodded.

  “Wow.” He laughed incredulously. He knew it was coming, but to have his producer and his agent collude. Fuck.

  “Tony, they don’t know what you’re worth. I do. I know,” Peta said earnestly. She touched his cheek gently. What the...? “Forget about them. They don’t deserve you. Some scenes they made you do were humiliating. Casting you in a roll where monkeys and animals ran all over you. Partnering you with her. You’re worth more. I know.”

  Holy mother of crap. An unsettled feeling shimmied over him. Peta still had a propriety hand on his cheek, and she looked at him as though he was her sunshine… shit. She was the stalker. She was the one who scratched up Bailey’s car.

  An
ger rose in him so swiftly, he had to clench his fists to avoid doing something he’d regret. Peta took his silence to mean something else. She cupped his face and pulled his lips down to hers, planting a hard and heavy kiss on his lips.

  His stomach rolled.

  A bright light flashed and flickered, and the unmistakable sound of an automatic camera shutter filled the air.

  What—?

  Prying her hands off his face, Tony stepped back, aghast.

  Peta still watched him, eyes full of adoration. Behind her, the homeless man took pictures with his enormous camera. And coming out of the Lazarus House lobby, with a stunned look on her face, was Bailey Haze.

  Tony’s gaze darted to Peta, the woman who’d threatened Bailey and vandalized her property. Panic engulfed him. What should he do? Pushing the woman away now would only serve to ratchet her twisted mind and paint Bailey as her enemy, and the photographer would see him. He couldn’t get rough. He couldn’t lay a hand on her. One snap and it would be taken the wrong way. It was one thing for him to fight with his fists against a sworn enemy, but a flesh and blood woman with a twisted mind. He didn’t know how to proceed, except to get her as far away from Bailey as he could. Taking Peta’s hand, and tossing eyes full of regret Bailey’s way, he went in the opposite direction hoping to dear God that Bailey knew by now when he was acting, and when he wasn’t.

  Peta rushed to keep up with him, almost breaking into a jog.

  “Tony, slow down,” she gasped.

  But his feet chewed the concrete with fast, furious strides. He kept going until he hit the alley behind the restaurant, and then he pulled her after him. Finally alone, he let go of her hand and showed her the full force of his anger. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  Her eyes widened. She paled. “What?”

  “You kissed me in front of the paparazzi.”