She looked over my shoulder, no doubt catching some pervert’s gaze. “Good idea.”
I’d just admitted to wanting to topple the government. I’d just confessed to collaboration between bikers and senators. A fucking revolution. But all I could focus on was her. Everything else paled in comparison. It was work—something I’d been plotting forever. Cleo, on the other hand, was still so new. I had to reconnect—to make sure I hadn’t scared her with my crazy ideals.
Weaving the final distance toward the staircase, I let her go ahead of me. She climbed the shallow steps in her delicate, dangerous heels.
Every sway of her ass drove more blood to throb in my cock.
I could barely walk with needing her.
Halfway up the winding staircase, I spanked her through the puffiness of her dress. “You’re going too slow, Buttercup.”
Her hips wriggled, taunting me. “I’m going as fast as I can in these shoes.”
“Not fast enough.” Spanking her again, I grunted, “Get up there before I lose my self-control in front of these fucking people.”
“So bossy,” she breathed.
“Just wait till we get behind a locked door.”
The climb took forever and I didn’t let her stop when we finally crested the second floor. Wedging my hand against her lower back, we traversed the landing and entered a guest bedroom farther down the hall. It was a room I’d used once or twice when Samson and I would plot well into the night. My eyes would burn from reading for so many hours and I’d end up crashing here—having nothing to return home to but emptiness.
Cleo drifted inside, taking in the white rugs thrown over the dark brown carpet and the king-sized bed with hanging Morocco bedside lights from yet another one of Samson’s travels. For a man who worked as many hours as he did, he did a lot of globe-trotting.
I locked the door, and my cock hardened. Every inch of my body reacted to the close proximity of the woman I needed. Even though she was across the room, watching me with anticipation and lust, our connection bound us—a powerful magnetic pull that only strengthened the longer we were together.
I would never be free of her power—orbiting around her for the rest of my life perfectly content.
It’d been that way with us from the very beginning. Ever since I helped her stumble home from falling off her bike, we’d been exquisitely drawn together. First by childhood fascination, then by aching teenage infatuation, until it had evolved into what existed today. A ferocious captivation of lust and love where every inch of her belonged to me.
All the rest … it could fucking wait until I’d had my fill.
My legs itched to cross the distance and drag her into my arms. I needed to feel her.
Touch her.
Love her.
The exquisite anticipation of what would happen made me rock hard. Fuck, it hurt. Everything hurt.
My dick.
My head.
My soul.
My hands fisted as I stepped closer. “I want you, Cleo.”
She gasped, a delicate flush warming her cheeks. Her parted lips somersaulted my stomach.
“I need you so damn much.” My voice was rough and ragged.
“I need you, too,” she breathed.
My skin stretched across my bones, becoming hypersensitive and aware. I wanted nothing more than her fingertips on my arms, my face, my cock.
“Come closer, Art. You can’t do too much when there’s a whole room between us.” Cleo tiptoed forward in her sexy high heels.
The svelte muscles in her legs dragged a groan from me. “Shit, you’re beautiful.”
Her eyes hooded. “And you’re ridiculously handsome.”
My fingers sparked, already drunk with expectation of stroking her. “You’re killing me.” I took another step.
And another.
With each one my headache pounded but it couldn’t compete with the throbbing in my cock. Slowly, the distance shortened until the air crackled with intensity. For a second, I feared what would happen when we finally did touch. We would ignite, spark, and devour each other in a fit of carnal explosion.
There was another reason why I needed her right here. Right now. One that I would never admit aloud. Tonight was about paperwork and media. But tomorrow …
Tomorrow was about bullets and blood.
It’s motherfucking war.
Rubix’s time was up.
The battle was locked and my time with Cleo was fast ticking to either retribution or death.
“How?” she murmured. “How am I killing you when you’re making me come so alive?”
Another step.
My heart clamored against my ribs. “You’re killing me because without you, I’m so damn alone. I look back on the past eight years and wonder how the hell I survived without you. My fucking sanity depends on you. My self-worth, my happiness, my purpose in this life—all hinge on you.”
What the fuck?
I hadn’t meant to spew such debilitating truth. She didn’t need to know just how broken I was with missing her. She didn’t need to guess how close I was to losing it when faced with war tomorrow and no crystal ball on how it would go.
Before she came back into my life, I would’ve gladly died if it meant I had my revenge. But now … now I wanted to fucking live.
Running a hand through my hair, I yanked at the hair tie and destroyed the ponytail. I tried to get myself together.
Don’t let her guess. Hold her. Fuck her. But don’t let her guess.
She took another step, her face soft and eyes glossy. “You’ll never lose me, Art. Not again.”
An ache sucker punched me in the chest. “I wish that could be true.” The constant headache that never left drained me suddenly. My ears ricocheted with the phantom sounds of bullets. I licked my lips. “Come here.”
She obeyed.
We met in the middle of the carpet. We stared but didn’t touch. We breathed but didn’t speak. The tension sprung tighter until the hairs on the back of my neck stood up with need.
We were so close, but still so far apart.
“Goddammit, come closer.” I grabbed her around the nape and smashed my lips to hers. The moment I touched her, the world incinerated.
There was no world rehabilitation. No upcoming battle. It was just us for eternity.
Her lips opened, welcoming me into her mouth as I walked her backward to the couch at the end of the bed. I didn’t go for the mattress. What I needed wasn’t long drawn out nakedness. I needed to be inside her now. Instantly. That very fucking second.
She was taller in her heels, her hands able to capture my cheeks without straining. Her warm touch sent my heart scattering and I groaned as her tongue massaged mine.
We didn’t stop kissing even as the back of her knees hit the couch and almost sent her sprawling from my hold. Spinning her around, I pressed her stomach against the high rolled arms of the settee and rocked my dick against her. “Feel how much I need you?” Trailing my fingers down her back, I traced the zipper, dropping to the stiff skirts below.
“I want you to submit to me. Let me take you this way.”
Her head hung forward, her fingers digging into the purple fabric of the furniture as I swooped up beneath her dress and grabbed the thin lace around her hips. Tugging her underwear down, I fumbled with my trousers and belt.
It took me two seconds to unbutton, unzip, and yank out my cock. I gritted my teeth as I touched myself, so damn ready for a release.
My eyes bruised with the overwhelming headache, growing worse with every second. My heartbeat refused to tame, thundering faster and faster.
Cleo moaned as I tossed up the bottom of her dress, wedging my naked cock against her overheated thighs.
Her back arched. “Yes. Take me.”
“Will you submit?” I drove against her again. Pre-cum shot up my dick, smearing on her perfect ass.
Will you give me this memory in case it’s the last one I have?
“God, yes. I’ll
submit. I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
“You’re incredible.” I fisted my length, sliding deep inside her. No foreplay, no warning. The slickness of her desire let me enter smoothly with no restriction. Her body melted with welcome.
“Shit, you feel so good.”
She folded deeper into the couch, giving in to me. Her hips rocked, forcing herself harder onto my length.
“Goddammit, Cleo.” My fingernails pinched her hips, holding her still. “You do that and I’ll embarrass myself in seconds.”
She laughed quietly. “Embarrass away. I don’t think I can handle too much of this.” Her forehead bunched with pleasure. “It feels too good.”
We were both still dressed in our cocktail finery, joined only where it mattered.
Looking down at Cleo’s plaited hair and exquisite dress, watching her body press harder against the couch with my every thrust, I fell deeper in love. I’d loved her as a child, a teen, and a man. And now I loved her as if she was a dirty siren that didn’t mind shedding her seraph wings and letting me take her dirty and wrong.
Massaging her lower back, I ordered darkly, “Spread your legs, Buttercup. I’m going to fuck you hard.”
Cleo whimpered, obeying instantly. Her legs widened, her feet still encased in the delicious high heels.
The moment she moved, I didn’t hesitate. With a powerful thrust, I drove deep inside her, stretching, claiming.
She cried out, bowing her head and biting a cushion.
Sparks shattered behind my eyelids as I thrust harder, faster, deeper.
Sweat glistened on her shoulders but I never stopped.
Moaning with delight, Cleo clawed at the sofa cushions, her nails indenting the thick fabric. “More, Kill. More.”
Something switched inside me. I didn’t know if it was her calling me Kill, or the deep passion in her tone, but I couldn’t disobey. My cock grew thicker, and I drove inside her so, so deep.
I would mark her forever. I would imprint myself into her soul so even death could never part us.
My stomach kissed her ass while she bent like a wilting flower over the armrest of the couch. Folding over her, I planted a hand on the cushion by her cheek and captured the nape of her neck with my teeth.
“Ah!” she cried, arching in my hold, giving me better access to her throat.
We were no longer humans as I licked and bit with primitive claiming. We were savages intent only on one thing: destroying each other with bliss.
Her pussy clenched around my length, triggering my orgasm. “I love fucking you,” I growled as pleasure spiraled through my system, shooting from my balls and through my cock.
I couldn’t stop the release and threw myself headfirst into it. Leaning back, I planted my feet hard against the carpet and thrust.
“Don’t stop. God, don’t stop,” Cleo panted. Her face was flushed and tense, every sense turned inward.
She cried out as I pounded into her with relentless rhythm.
“I’m coming!” Her voice tore through my haze.
I spurted inside her, over and over again.
Fisting her braid, I held it while my balls smacked against her clit with rhythmic slaps dragging on her orgasm.
The friction between us undid me. The grimace of tortured ecstasy on her face consumed me. She couldn’t do a thing but endure my pace, my pressure—everything I gave her.
The last of my defenses toward her crumbled. I loved her so fucking fiercely.
The last band of bliss finished and I slowed down, running my hands down her back. Petting her, calming her. “That … that was—”
“Amazing,” she breathed, her legs wobbling as I pulled out and tucked my cock into my trousers.
Smiling at how sated she was, I picked her up and sat on the couch, placing her on my knee.
Tomorrow, I would walk out without saying goodbye. I would go to battle without a backward glance, even though it would tear out my fucking heart.
I would do it to protect her.
I would do it to keep her safe.
But for now, she was mine and I meant to tell her just how much I loved her.
Kissing her ever so softly, I pressed my forehead against hers. “You’re my home, Cleo Price. And through life or death, I’m never letting you go.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cleo
It’d been three years since I’d become Sarah Jones. Three years of living an imposter’s life. Three years of emptiness. But now there was an itch inside my brain … begging for a scratch, craving the walls to fall.
Life had taken away my past and changed my future … I just had to hold on and see where the tide of change led me. —Cleo, diary entry, age seventeen
The next morning began like any other.
I woke on the left side of the bed with Arthur on the right.
We smiled and stroked and showered together.
We chatted and ate breakfast like any ordinary couple.
He skirted the topic of world domination, secret plans, and revolutionary reform. While I pried and inquired and tried to comprehend the magnitude of what would happen.
Then he announced he had business to attend to back at Pure Corruption.
I asked if I could go.
He said no.
He explained it was boring admin stuff. Stuff I wouldn’t be interested in.
I didn’t believe him, even when he assured me he wouldn’t be long. That he’d be back for dinner. That I didn’t need to worry.
He was downright lying.
When he walked out the door¸ I knew then that something was wrong.
It wasn’t his overeager assurances that terrified me. It wasn’t his curtness when I pried.
What petrified me were the words he didn’t say.
The questions he refused to answer.
He was planning something.
Something huge.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“What do you think of this one?”
Grasshopper’s voice wrenched me from my thoughts.
I blinked, completely lost as to where we were and what the hell we were doing there. After Arthur had left, I’d paced the house, stewing with anger.
Once that proved unproductive, I decided to take drastic action. I threw on my jacket, tied up my hair, and stormed from the house—fully intending to drive over to the compound and demand to know what the hell was going on.
Only, I got as far as the garage before I was intercepted like some criminal.
Grasshopper had been put on babysitting duty.
And as much as I liked him—I wanted to tear him apart when he confiscated my pilfered car keys and threw me on the back of his Triumph with some halfhearted excuse of overseeing a few things.
The first half of the morning had been spent popping into the small businesses that Arthur, Mo, and Grasshopper ran—collecting income and records from the previous week.
But now it was late afternoon and I knew this rigmarole was intentional.
I was being kept away for a reason.
I could barely breathe with worry. Everything inside me screamed that something was seriously wrong.
Every time I sneaked into a bathroom and dialed Arthur’s number, it went straight to voice mail. Every time I asked Grasshopper to elaborate on why Arthur had gone to the compound without me, he replied with the same annoying noncommittal response.
Once again I was in the dark and I hated it. More than hated it. Crushed by it. “Butterbean … earth to Cleo.” Grasshopper snapped his fingers in front of my face, forcing me to focus. Another salon came into view. The third one today.
I scowled for the hundredth time.
The outside was pretty and cotton candy sweet. Decorated with golds and pinks, it enticed women—judging by the four clients currently in different stages of styling in the window—but set my teeth on edge.
I’d get a damn cavity just looking at the place.
I shifted on the back of the Tri
umph. The Florida sunshine hadn’t let up and my jacket was stifling. All I wanted was a cold glass of water and some shade.
And the truth.
A cold dish of honesty.
Any other afternoon, I would’ve loved this. I would’ve jumped at the chance to get to know Hopper more—exploring all the avenues of Pure Corruption. But this wasn’t any other afternoon.
Crossing my arms, I said for the twentieth time, “Give it up, Hopper. I want to go back.”
Hopper twisted the accelerator; the bike rumbled between our legs. Avoiding eye contact, he glanced not-so-subtly at his phone. “Fine. I guess we can go back.”
I tried to glimpse at whatever existed on his screen, but he cleared it and stuffed it back into his pocket.
“Take me to where Kill is.”
He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’ll take you back to his place.”
My blood boiled. “I don’t want to go back to his place—not unless he’s there.”
His back tensed, knuckles fisting around the handles. “Can’t.”
My blood turned to ice.
“Why not?”
Go on. Admit it.
The apprehension of a lie hovered between us.
“He told me to take you back, that’s all. Meeting’s almost over. He’ll be back soon.”
The fib threw sticky tar over my insides. It was so obvious.
Through his deception, he’d shown me the truth.
I know.
Hanging my head, I squeezed my eyes. “You just lied to me.”
His leather jacket creaked as he turned to face the road, giving me his back. “I didn’t fucking lie …” Sighing, he admitted, “I’m sorry.”
My heart sank into the oily mess inside me. I knew why I’d been made to hop around town for no reason. I knew why Grasshopper had kept me distracted. “It’s tonight, isn’t it?”
Grasshopper froze, his strong muscles forming an unforgiving wall before me.
He didn’t reply.
I sank into despair. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know.” The way Arthur had made love to me last night. The intensity in which he never let me go. He was saying goodbye—just in case he didn’t survive.
No!
He can’t leave like this.
He can’t be so heartless to leave without saying goodbye.
Sin & Suffer Page 30
