Caught for Christmas

by Skye Warren

  His rough sounds fill the air around me, a symphony of sex and man.

  He’s close to coming. I can tell by the way his thighs are trembling, by the hard bunch of his abs. His whole body is canted on the edge of climax.

  That’s when I realize his arms are no longer flung carelessly over his head or over the side of the couch. They’re held tight by his body, hands curled into fists. He’s holding himself back.

  He’s awake.

  I pause, my lips sliding over the ridge of him as I look up. His eyes are still closed, his face taut—he looks like he’s in pain. When I stop moving, his eyes fly open. They’re black in the darkness, but I can read the hunger in them. The need.

  “Bianca,” he says hoarsely.

  There’s desperation in that word. Affection too.

  No surprise. He knew it was me all along. He might have been awake the whole time. When will I learn that I can’t catch him off guard? I’ve conned a hundred men out of their money, in lots of different ways. I always knew that one would eventually catch me, hurt me, break me.

  West has done those things, but not like I thought it would be. He doesn’t hurt me.

  No, he’s infinitely gentle as he runs the side of his finger along my temple and trails a lock of my hair. He’s shaking with need, but he doesn’t force my head or thrust up into me. He pushes the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “So fucking soft,” he mutters.

  I lean forward to finish what I started, but he stops me. “What’s wrong?”

  He swallows audibly. “I need to come, baby. I need you so bad.”

  But when I press forward again, his hands hold me back.

  “Not like that,” he murmurs.

  Then I’m twisting, falling, lying flat on my back where he used to be, his leftover heat rising up to meet me while his body bears me down.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I expect him to push inside of me, to start fucking me and take what he deserves. I don’t have much of anything to offer him. Only my body.

  He helps himself to my body but not how I expect. Instead he kisses his way over my breasts and down my stomach. They’re mere brushes of his lips that tease more than they pleasure. Then he bends his head between my legs, and I can’t help but spread them wider. I don’t deserve what he’s going to do to me, but I crave it.

  “You don’t…” I manage to gasp out. “You don’t have to.”

  He groans, dark eyes meeting mine. His voice is pure gravel. “You think I’m doing this just for you? You think I haven’t fucking dreamed about this every night since I first saw you dance?”

  He seems to be waiting for answer. “I…don’t know?”

  “I’ve been dreaming of how you’ll taste. And after having you, I’m fucking addicted. Even down in that basement, I couldn’t wait to have you again. Somewhere warm and soft, where I know you’ll be comfortable for a long, long time.”

  “Oh.” I feel faint, just thinking about how long he might be planning on licking me. What happened in that basement is already the longest I’ve ever imagined a man’s mouth on me—and it drove me insane with pleasure. What could he do to me with all the time in the world?

  He doesn’t seem to want to discuss it anymore.

  No, he clearly intends to show me.

  He doesn’t start off soft like he did before. Not testing or tasting. He plunges his tongue into my slit as fiercely as I thought he’d do with his cock—as if he’s dying to feel my heat, my softness. He gathers up all my juices on his tongue, and then he forces me to make more.

  I reach back and hold on to the sofa as if it can anchor me, but the force of his will is too strong. One lick on my clit, then two. When he presses his lips around my clit and sucks, I push off the couch and climax in long, draining pulses that leave me sated.

  He’s not done with me.

  His mouth never leaves my flesh. He drinks my orgasm down, then immediately starts pushing me toward another one.

  “No,” I gasp. “Too much.” I’m too sensitive, feeling too much pleasure. Who would have known it could feel like pain? I’ve never had anyone give me enough to find out.

  Large hands press my legs down, and he feasts on me.

  I’m trembling and crying out by the time I come again, bucking against him, fucking his mouth.

  My body collapses on the couch, still shaking from the aftershocks. And he doesn’t let up. I look down and see the wicked glint in his eyes. He loves tasting me, loves making me come so hard my muscles turn to jelly. Over and over again. This is why I needed to be somewhere warm—because I’m shivering when I’m not in the middle of climax. This is why I needed to be somewhere soft. I sink into the cushions and let them carry me away, pleasure like waves lapping at my skin.

  I can’t keep track of how many times he makes me come. At some point I think they aren’t even separate times, but one long stretch of bliss. I feel incandescent, glowing from the inside, the heat from my climaxes visible through my skin.

  His hands press down on the inside of my thighs, tighter as he fights for control, and I know he’ll leave bruises. He’s hurting me, and he’s hurting himself. It’s part of the game he plays with us, taking us both higher.

  Just when I think I can’t take any more—that he can’t take any more—he kneels between my legs.

  With one hand he notches his cock against my slick entrance. With his other hand, he grabs my hip, steadying me. Only then do I realize my hips are moving on their own, fucking the air—I’m that far gone to this, to sex. To him.

  He presses inside me. When he’s all the way inside, he groans. It sounds like agony. “No condom.”

  “Don’t stop.” I’m not even sure I’ve formed the words correctly. I may have just made an urgent sound, a desperate sound, but he seems to understand.

  His eyes are almost pitch-black with need. “Are you sure?”

  I squeeze him with my inner muscles, and that’s all the answer he needs. He starts fucking me hard, rocking the whole couch with each thrust. The force of his thrusts push me up the sofa until I’m tipping over the side. I let my head and shoulders hang over the edge, reveling in the pure savagery.

  Then I feel his hard chest meet my breasts. His hand cups the back of my head, and he’s holding me up, holding me to him while he kisses me. It’s a tender kiss, a sharp contrast to the way his body slams into mine.

  He fucks me until I sob his name and come around him. I milk his orgasms right out of him because he follows right behind, his rough groan like music—a haunting tune I know I’ll think of later, when he’s gone.

  When he pulls out, he looks down, and I do too. My sex is flushed pink and swollen with the pounding he’s given me. His cock is dark, almost purple at the tip, and shiny from his come.

  His come. He came inside me. No condom.

  His gaze acknowledges the loss, but he doesn’t look worried. He looks satisfied, almost smug. “You’re mine now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He lets me wash up, a short reprieve. I clean myself with water and soap, but they do nothing to diminish the feel of him coming inside me, the insistent jet of come that marks me as his. It was a primitive feeling—skin to skin, the hot wash of come.

  I feel claimed even though I don’t believe in things like that.

  I search through his drawers and find a large pair of cotton workout shorts and a white T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. They’re too big for me, but I don’t mind. They’re like armor, and I need all the protection I can get. I’m too exposed right now, too vulnerable in every way that matters—at least I can pretend that my body is still my own.

  When I come back into the living space, he’s on the phone in the kitchen.

  He paces, vibrating with tension. “We need to find him before he—”

  There’s a pause.

  “I can’t take that risk,” West says, practically growling. “I don’t even want to leave her alone until they’re gone.”

  Another pause.

>   Then a sigh. “Yeah, I got it. Thank you. I mean it.”

  It must be Blue on the other end of the line. I can tell by the familiar way West speaks, full of trust and friendship. I linger in the living room, knowing I shouldn’t be listening. It’s like the laughter I heard at the baby shower—alluring but not for me.

  He hangs up and notices me. His expression flashes blank fast enough that I know exactly who he was talking about with Blue. Me.

  “You’re looking for Jeb?” I ask.

  He doesn’t flinch, but his expression is wary. He comes closer. “We need to make sure they’re not going to target the Grand anymore.”

  “It’s okay.” It’s only natural they would be looking for Jeb. I’m surprised he let Maisie leave at all. Maybe some old-world chivalry thing. But Maisie is just as guilty as Jeb—and I’m as guilty as them both. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “You have to do your job and protect the Grand.” And I’m not going to fight him or evade him. Not anymore. He can fuck me until he’s ready to turn me over to Ivan. Or maybe he’ll let me go. I don’t even care anymore. They’re both the same. They both mean losing him.

  “That’s right.” His voice is cautious.

  “And you want to make sure we leave the city,” I continue, my voice cracking. “That’s only fair, considering what we tried to do.”

  His expression darkens. “You’re not leaving, Bianca. Not when I just got you here.”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to keep me after what I did?”

  The obvious answer is my body, but I don’t fool myself. There’s an entire club full of beautiful girls at the Grand—girls who never tried to steal. He’s sexy and kind. He would have no trouble finding a girl to sleep with him. There’s no reason why he should want me.

  Though, he doesn’t look like he wants me. Not at the moment. He looks angry.

  “God, Bianca. You really can’t believe anyone wants to help you? To be with you?”

  I flinch because he’s right.

  He pulls me to the sofa. “Baby, you’re an incredible woman. Strong. Smart. Obviously gorgeous. Any man would trip over his dick trying to be with you.” He makes a face. “I should have said that better.”

  I smile, feeling shy. “I think you said it pretty great.”

  He sighs. “I hate that you doubt yourself, that you won’t let yourself trust me.”

  A knot tightens my throat. “I do trust you.”

  As much as I trust anyone, which admittedly isn’t much.

  His eyes study mine. “When I first met you, I wanted to be with you. And the way you looked at me, it seemed like you wanted me too.”

  “I did.” At his wry expression, I laugh a little. How can he make me laugh, even now? “I do want you.”

  “But every time I got close, you backed away. At first I was going to respect that. No matter that you looked at me like you wanted to touch me, no matter that I was dying to taste you.”

  My eyebrows go up. “I was a little surprised that you…you know. Did that. While I was tied up.”

  He gets a strange expression, and I have the feeling that if I touched his cheeks they would be warm. He’s blushing. “Then I saw you struggling and refusing help from anyone—not from me or the other girls. You were getting thinner, and I could see the fear in your eyes. Then you went and tried to steal from the Grand—”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

  “I’m not angry, baby. I’m just explaining why I couldn’t hold back any more. I couldn’t watch you destroy yourself. I came to care about you, despite you pushing me away, despite my best efforts not to care, and I couldn’t let anyone hurt you—not even yourself.”

  I shiver. “And not my parents.”

  “Definitely not them.” His expression turns cold, and I realize this is the face of the soldier, the man who fought multiple tours overseas. This is what his enemies saw. “They should have protected you.”

  “I’m not going to defend them. I spent too long giving them excuses.”

  “You don’t ever need to see them again.” The way he says it, I can almost believe it’s true.

  I look down at my loose T-shirt and shorts rolled up at the waistband. I feel even more helpless without my clothes. That’s just an illusion, though. I was already as helpless as possible, whether I’m wearing flip-flops or stilettos or nothing at all. “What about me?”

  He looks down, seeming almost vulnerable. “I hope you’ll stay with me.” He pauses. “At least until the New Year. We don’t have to decide anything right away, and you’ll be safe here. I’ll have Blue send someone to bring your clothes.”

  It can’t be that simple. “What about Ivan?”

  “What about him?”

  “Umm, I broke into his club.”

  “Only because we let you.” West smiles a little at my glare. Then he sobers. “Ivan doesn’t have to know.”

  “He might find out. You’d lose your job.” I don’t add that he would more likely lose his life.

  A fierce light enters his eyes. “I’ll protect you from anyone, Bianca. And I’ll just need to keep saying it until you believe me. If Ivan came after you, I’d keep you safe. If anyone even thinks about touching you, I’d make them wish they were never born.”

  There he is again, the warrior. It makes me shiver. “Okay,” I whisper.

  “Good.” He smiles, looking almost normal. Like a hot guy you’d meet at a coffee shop—not terrifying and intense. Not like he’s going to battle the world just to keep me alive. “Now come have breakfast. Do you want omelets or pancakes? Wait, what am I saying? I’ll make both.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Breakfast is just the beginning, and I spend the rest of the day cocooned in a warmth I’ve only dreamed about. I find a box of microwave popcorn in the pantry, and West pulls out a needle and thread from an impressive first-aid kit. We create edible garland that we string up around his loft, adding a bit of festive charm to the stark space.

  His expression is so focused as he pushes the needle through the puffy kernels, as if he’s on the battlefield, as if it’s a question of life or death. So I can’t help but toss a kernel at him, which bounces off his broad and impressively solid chest.

  He looks up, first in surprise, then in mischievous delight—he retaliates with a hail of popcorn fire.

  Then the bowl is empty, and I’m flat on the rug, laughing, popcorn in my hair. I’m a disaster, but he looks down at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

  It’s strange and rare, and I would give anything to stay like this forever.

  Even now, in pure bliss, there’s a frantic edge, an undertone of dread, because it will never be enough.

  His phone chimes, and I feel him tense above me. He backs off me, and I immediately miss the safety of his arms, the surety of his weight. His body moves stiffly as he crosses the room to check the text message, as if whatever’s happening pains him. Or worries him.

  What could worry a man as strong and sure as this one?

  “What’s wrong?” I ask softly.

  He looks at me, and a shadow crosses his face. I know he feels the loss of intimacy, of warmth as much as I do. “We think your parents skipped town.”

  “Oh.” The thought makes my stomach clench, even though I don’t want to see them again. Abandonment never really gets easier. It’s just less of a surprise.

  He pauses, his expression guarded. “We found the motel room they’d been renting. It had some schematics of the Grand and other items that identify them.”

  Guilt and shame war within me. I’m embarrassed that I ever tried to rob the club. I’m glad we failed. The Grand was never really at risk anyway. We only got that far inside because West had been setting a trap.

  I fold my arms across myself. “Maybe you could just… let them go. They didn’t take anything.”

  His expression is dark. “That’s not the problem.”

  Realization
dawns. “The money. Fifty thousand dollars. That’s what they told me Jeb owed the Caivano family. Maisie said…she said they were holding him hostage until they got their money.”

  “The Caivano family doesn’t take hostages.”

  “No,” I agree quietly. If I had been thinking straight I might have realized that. The Caivano family isn’t known for their patience. Or their mercy. They would have killed Jeb if they could have gotten their hands on him. “Maisie showed me his ring as proof that he was taken. I was so worried.”

  My voice cracks on the last word. It makes my stomach turn over to think about them planning to con me—about him giving her his ring just to make sure I went through with the job. I’m a fool for ever worrying about him.

  For ever loving him, even if he is my father.

  Anger flashes through West’s eyes. “With them gone…”

  With them gone, the Caivanos will be out for blood. And I’m the only one left. “So I’m in trouble,” I say, trying to sound light.

  I want him to tell me I’m wrong. I want him to tell me I’m safe.

  “Your apartment was searched,” he says instead.

  My stomach turns over as I imagine my crappy apartment in tatters. There wasn’t much there—my clothes and some old pictures. Piles of yarn that I mostly unravel from antique clothing I find at garage sales.

  My throat feels tight. “I guess it was always going to end like this.”

  West’s expression is fierce. “No one will touch you.”

  I shake my head while he’s speaking, because he can’t protect me forever. “Don’t worry about me.” My voice rings false. “I’ve looked after myself this long.”

  “You’ll stay here,” he says. “We’re looking for your parents, and Blue has contacts with the Caivano family to see if we can work something out. I’m looking after you now.”

  Even the conviction in his words can’t comfort me now.

  Panic has been steadily building. I feel violated. I feel terrified.