The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  The blacks of her pupils shrink, and she blinks, focusing on me. And I kiss her again. This time, I linger for a few seconds, feeling her body firming up against me. And I hear a little whimper. But her hands remain dead by her sides.

  “No.” She steps away, dropping her gaze to our bare feet. “You shouldn’t kiss me.”

  I’m not the kind of man that gets confused. My life is too clean-cut. There’s no room for misunderstandings. So now, I’m a little stumped. “Why?”

  “You just shouldn’t.” She makes to turn, but I grab her wrist, stopping her. There’s no question that I should let her leave, but an odd sense of entitlement wants an explanation. There’s a simple one, of course. She nearly died, but fear isn’t something that goes hand in hand with Rose. She’s made that obvious from day one, so what’s changed? “Let me go.” She’s begging. It makes me more suspicious.

  “No,” I reply, no anger or frustration entering my tone. It’s just a simple no.

  Looking up at me, she fights to control her wobbling lip. “You need to send me away, Danny.”

  “Fuck, no.” I laugh, but nowhere near amusement. “You forget why you’re here, Rose.”

  “Yes,” she yells, violently snatching her arm out of my hold. “Yes, I have forgotten. So remind me.” Her palm is sailing toward my face before I register she’s moved, and though I still have time to avoid her aim, I don’t. I let her slap my face with force, her anger fueling the power. I know what she’s doing. She wants me to hit her back. To remind her. I don’t hit her. Won’t. But I do take her neck lightly and back her up to the nearest wall. I’m angry, yes, but not because she’s slapped me. I’m fucking mad because she’s backtracking. I finally gave in, and now she’s taking it away. I won’t fucking let her.

  I thrust her back into the wall and flex my fingers around her throat, pushing my face up to hers. My snarl is very real. My blood is very hot. I can feel her swallows against my palm, her face tight with indignation. I spin her around and push her front forward into the wall, holding her by the back of her neck with one hand, sliding my thumb into the edge of her knickers with the other. She inhales sharply but doesn’t fight me off.

  “You want a piece of me, Rose?” I spit, ripping her knickers off and tossing them aside. She cries out, her head falling back on her shoulders. It gives me perfect access to her neck, my mouth falling there naturally. I lick the column of her throat. She tastes like salt. Salt, sea, and fucking heaven. “The real me?” I bite down on her flesh hard, reaching for her tits and yanking the cups of her bra down. I feel no resistance. I hear no refusal. Consent is dotted over every inch of her body in the form of fire. My cock swells behind my boxers, lurching against the material, straining hard. I pull down the waistband and free it, groaning when the tip skims the crease of her arse. “Tell me you want it.” I take hold of my dick and trace lines across her arse, leaving trails of pre-cum as I go. “Tell me you want my thick cock smashing into your desperate pussy.”

  Her fists come up to the wall and slam hard, my teeth sinking into the flesh of her neck again.

  “Tell me.” Suddenly, I need that verbal go-ahead. I need her to beg.

  “No.” Her breathy refusal isn’t telling me I can’t fuck her. But I still won’t. Not until she gives me the magic word. It takes everything in me, but I drop my cock, drop her body, and drop her neck from my mouth, moving back. “No,” she screams the moment I’m no longer touching her, slumping against the wall, her fists going mad, bashing against it.

  If I wasn’t so fucking frustrated, I’d smile. But smiling is beyond me now. Way beyond me. “Fuck off out of my room,” I snarl. “Get the fuck out of my room before I throw you out.” I either throw her out or fuck her blind without the okay I need. I can’t do that. I refuse to do that, no matter how much she wants me to. No matter how much I need to.

  She rolls against the plaster, showing no signs of obeying my command. It fuels the fire inside me, both the desire and the anger. I steam forward grabbing her arm and manhandling her to the door. She fights me, just as I expected, trying to pry my fingers from her flesh, hitting and smacking me as I drag her to the door. It would be easy to lose my cool. Easy to knock her to the ground with one slap. I’ve never had the urge to lash out at a woman, and not even my lack of control in this moment will change that. I swing the door open and turn toward her.

  And get knocked back by a fist square on my jaw.

  I stagger back in surprise, blinking through the stars in my vision until I can see her. Fuck me, she’s got a stellar right hook. I flex my jaw, practically cracking it into place. The look in her eyes tells me she’s surprised too, her form frozen once more. I don’t know what to do with this. “You just fucking punched me.” So I state the obvious like a moron.

  She backs up, wary, her eyes wide. She thinks I’m going to return the favor. Oh, I am. I lunge forward and grab her, spinning her until her back slams into my chest. I take her wrists and cross her arms over her front, immobilizing her, disturbing the bandage on my arm as I do. I ignore the flash of pain when I brush the cuts against her flesh and walk her to the wall. My mouth at her ear, I whisper, “Say it.” And she nods. “Say yes, Rose,” I demand, leaning into her, pushing her against the wall. My cock reloads.

  “Yes,” she whimpers, sounding like she could burst into tears at any moment. I exhale and slowly release her arms. Her stance widens. My palms come up and rest either side of her waist. Her face turns to the side. Her arse juts out in invitation. “Yes,” she repeats, this time evenly.

  I look down at my cock. The damn thing is weeping. Reaching forward, I take her hair tie and pull it free, releasing her damp waves. My hand slides onto her scalp and clamps down, my body moving in. When the tip of my dick meets the crack of her arse, my body folds in anticipation for the pleasure it knows is coming.

  I. Am. So. Ready.

  Desperation is going to lead this. “Tell me you’re on birth control,” I order, tracing a line up her spine with my fingertip, flipping the catch of her bra as I pass. She nods. “Tell me you’ve always used protection before me.”

  “Always. Now you tell me the same.”

  “Always.” Taking her hips, I yank them back, stepping out, widening my stance to get level. My dick needs no guiding in. It knows exactly where it wants to be, and I push past her entrance on a stifled growl. My teeth clench. My muscles tense. My body spasms with the pleasure of that first deep plunge.

  She goes listless in my hands, her torso collapsing forward, her fingers clawing the smooth wall. “Danny.” My name is broken, cracked by pleasure. I have no desire to kiss her. To caress her skin or go slow. She’s starved the animal. I’ve starved the animal too. So there’s only one way.

  I draw back and slam forward on a curled lip, moving one hand to her neck and clawing my fingers into her nape over her hair. Her scream is just what I need. My cock rolls against the walls of her pussy as I pull back, and I look down, admiring the vision of my taut shaft slick with her arousal. I clench my teeth and pound into her again, delighting in her consistent grunts that quickly roll into moans. I must be hurting her with the brutality of my advances. I smile. She’ll never admit it. Heat pricks at my skin as I admire the sight before me. I have her pinned in place like an animal. It’s carnal and inhumane.

  I should do the gentlemanly thing and warn her that I’m about to let loose. I should. But I won’t. She asked for this. Hard. Fucking. The vulnerable woman in the sea who I kissed is gone. My Rose is back.

  My hips buck, my control faltering for a split second, and she cries out, her forehead rolling across the wall. I move my hold from her neck to her hair to pull her head away, groaning when I catch a brief glimpse of her drowsy eyes. My veins pump harder. I’ve teased her enough, primed her enough, given her enough time to adjust to my length and girth.

  Rearing back, I take in air and brace myself.

  The gloves are off.

  I rocket forward on a roar that could crumble the house, sl
amming into her wickedly, and I give her no time to prepare for the next thrust, pulling back and launching forward again. Sweat instantly beads my skin. Pleasure rapidly cripples me. Want for more takes over. I let go completely and fuck her like I’ve never fucked a woman before. Harder than I have before. Faster than I have before. With more frustration and purpose fueling me than I ever have before.

  Rose’s body absorbs my blows, each drive dislodging another scream from her hoarse throat. Her hands feel around the wall for something to hold on to, her head jerking limply on her shoulders. Every time I enter her, I feel like I’m going deeper and deeper, and each time I withdraw, I feel like I could lose my mind with the desperation to get back in there. All this just makes my hips piston faster.

  I’ve lost control. Blood is pounding in my ears, my hearing a whoosh of nothing, my shouts, her screams, just a distant, muffled sound. I’m out of my body, but so very much in it.

  She comes before me. I feel it in the solidifying of her body, hear it in the change of pitch in her screams, and then the extended moan and the limpness of her body. Not that I need it, but it’s the invitation I want to another world.

  I breathe in deep and close my eyes, letting the pleasure take over and spark, igniting the start of my release. It builds slowly at first, but when it hits my balls, it erupts, surging forward at a rate I’m not equipped to cope with. I gasp, my body folding over her back, my knees wobbling with the intensity. I’m held on the cusp for just a few painful seconds as I draw out one last time, and then sink in slowly as my cock explodes and has one hand reaching for the wall to hold me up. I snake my other around her stomach, seeing she’s struggling to remain on her feet too. My roar is suppressed. My body out of control.

  I shake and tremble, staring down at her back as I fight my way through. It seems to drag out forever, the pulses of my dick going on and on. Rose is breathing heavily beneath me, creating a wave with my body as it follows the rolls of hers.

  Release. Somehow, we both achieved a release, but it wasn’t enough. An angry, hate-filled fuck should have satisfied me. Sated me. And yet, I’m just empty.

  Tasted heaven, but feel like hell.

  I pull out on a quiet hiss and head for my bathroom, flipping on the shower. I should feel better. Relieved. I don’t. I just feel like an arsehole. My back meets the tile, and I stare into the steam, mentally beating myself up. But she asked for it. Made it that way. I flex my jaw, feeling the ache from her perfect punch. And I look down at my arm, ripping the bandage off. The cuts are weeping. Motherfucker.

  I wash myself down, realigning my thoughts to more important things. Like who just tried to blow me up. I brush my teeth, pull on the jeans that are hanging on the back of the chair in the corner of my bathroom, and make my way into the bedroom.

  She’s gone.

  Good.

  * * *

  After finding a bandage in the kitchen and doing a piss-poor job of redressing the wounds on my arm, I head for my office. I ignore Brad’s curious look when I enter. “The ice has melted,” he says, placing the tumbler in my hand as I pass. I ignore his subtle observation of the time it’s taken me to get down here, slumping down in my chair. I also ignore the fact that it hasn’t escaped his notice that I have a tidy blemish on my cheek. But he doesn’t mention it. “Didn’t you have time to get dressed?”

  I look at my chest that is missing one T-shirt. “Fuck off, Brad. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “You tell me, Danny. Your arm is shredded, your nose looks broken, and to top it off, some fucker just tried to blow you up.”

  “My arm and my nose aren’t your concern. Let me worry about that.” I glare at him across the desk. “They’re getting closer.” I neck my drink and immediately hold up my empty glass. Ringo grabs the bottle of Scotch and refills it while Brad settles in a chair opposite and the rest of my men move in. “How the fuck did they get a bomb in my jet ski?”

  “Monroe’s been on watch down there for the past two days.” Brad sighs, rubbing at his head, which is undoubtedly aching. “I’ve got him speaking to the staff. Checking the bookings, the deliveries. With no CCTV, we’re kinda fucked. You should reconsider having it installed.”

  I get up and start pacing, needing to feel my feet. “CCTV is more of a risk than a gain. The police come sniffing around, they’ll see too much of what we don’t want seen.” I neck the rest of my second Scotch and this time refill it myself. Whoever did this is getting too close for comfort, and I don’t just mean to ending my life. We operate out of the boatyard. I can’t have that being exposed. “Someone was watching us.” I look at Brad, who’s frowning. “There was no trigger on the jet ski that set the bomb off. I wasn’t on it. The engine cut when I dived in after Rose.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying someone watched me ride out from the boatyard. I was too far out to be seen from the shore. They detonated the bomb assuming I was still on the jet ski.” Rose catapulting off the back was a blessing in disguise. “Any news on the Mexicans and Romanians?” I ask.

  “Badger checked in earlier. The Mexicans are in Mexico and Romania has a new small-time organization making waves.”

  “Waves?”

  “Amateurs. Drugs, hookers, petty crimes. With Dimitri gone, it was only a matter of time before some wannabe gangster tried to make a name for himself.”

  “No threat?”

  “They can barely coordinate an orgy. No threat.”

  I sigh, trying to breathe through the building frustration. Then who, for fuck’s sake? Who?

  “Listen, about your dad’s funeral.”

  I look at Brad in disbelief. “Do I look like I want to fucking talk about my dad’s funeral?” I get up to leave, grabbing the bottle of Scotch as I go. I fucking miss him, but I haven’t had a minute to stop and grieve. Don’t trust anyone. No second chances. I want more than just those words to deal with this fucked-up state I’m in. I should go on a rampage. Shoot to kill. Wipe out all the fuckers. I’m pretty sure that’s what my father would have done. I’m forced to shove my bottle of Scotch under my arm when my phone rings from my pocket. I look down at the screen and up to Brad. “Adams.” I reverse my steps and place the Scotch on the desk, answering on loudspeaker. “Tell me.”

  “The Jepson kid woke up this afternoon.”

  “Fuck,” I spit, closing my eyes and wondering what other obstacles are going to be thrown in my way. “And?”

  “And he got off lightly, considering. Should be out in a week or two.” He sounds beaten.

  Brad dramatically slumps back in his seat. I would too, if I was sitting. Instead, I pour myself another Scotch and sink it, preparing myself for what needs to be done. “And Byron’s Reach is in a trust until he’s twenty-one?” I ask, needing to hear the situation loud and clear one more time before I take action.

  Adams is quiet for a few moments. This isn’t just shitty news to me. This is shitty for him. Because he’s not getting Rose back until I get that marina. “It’ll be released in ten years and seven months.”

  “Sort it.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but can you wait eleven years to see Rose, Adams?” I ask, as much malice in my voice as I intended.

  “You can’t keep her.”

  “Fucking watch me.” I see Brad’s disapproving head shake, and rightly so. I need Rose around about as much as I need to be blown up. “And thirty-five million will turn into forty if I don’t see results soon.” I push myself off the desk, practically hearing Adams wince, and stab at the screen to end the call, feeling the pressure building in my head. “Find out what hospital the kid is at,” I order Brad. Kill the kid. Send Rose back. Get the marina. Find the motherfucker who’s got a target on my head. Simple shit. Or, it should be. I look up at Brad.

  “What are you going to do, Danny?” he asks.

  “I’m going to get rid of an obstacle.”

  “What the fuck? Let’s just get Adams here and torture the fucking inform
ation out of him. Find out who’s moved in on him and get this shit done with. Send the girl back. Get on with our fucking job.”

  “You don’t think whoever’s pocket he’s in will be waiting for that? I’ve got millions at stake. The second Adams is in this office denying shit, I have to kill him.” No second chances. “Have Adams watched. Send Len. Get his phone tapped. Get his bank accounts looked at. I want to know who he’s talking to and what he’s spending. As soon as I find out who wants me gone, and I can guarantee my money and the boatyard, he’s dead.”

  “And the woman?”

  “She’ll be dead too. The hospital. I want to know what hospital the kid is in.”

  “Danny,” Brad begins, his tone worried. “Seriously? A kid?”

  “I need that fucking marina,” I say calmly, but I’m far from feeling it. I pace out of the office, the bottle at my lips.

  Chapter 16

  ROSE

  * * *

  He’s slumped in a chair at the far side of my room, an empty bottle of Scotch in his hand. He looks troubled, even in his sleep. Has he been there all night? I prop myself up against the headboard and bring my knees up, circling them with my arms and resting my chin on the tops. I’m sore between my thighs, heavy and uncomfortable. It’s not an unusual feeling. It’s a feeling that goes hand in hand with my job. Or rather, my daily torment. But now, the source, the circumstances, it feels all wrong on me. Last night, Danny fucked me against the wall like he hated me. It didn’t stop me from coming, though. Fury, frustration, and guilt only seemed to intensify my orgasm. I was at his mercy before he even got me against the wall. I’m at his mercy with or without the complexity of the circumstances surrounding my involvement with him. Not that Danny knows any of that. To him, I am just a whore. No smart man gets sentimental over business. Translated: you’re business.

  He has no idea.

  I sigh despondently as I edge my way to the side of the bed and settle my bare feet onto the carpet. The squidgy fibers feel good between my toes, a softness in this hard, rotten world.