The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “I decide who I fuck,” he growls, ripping my robe open and pressing his naked front into mine. I turn my head away from his face, determined to stop the desire from surging forward and controlling me. It’s too late. It’s already taking pole position, but I can control it. I must control it. But surely I should want this. Surely having him surrender to me is for the best, because, make no mistake, as much as he’s growling and spitting scathing words in my face, he is surrendering. Yet I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to strengthen the connection between us. It’ll just make this harder, and it’s already unbearable. I’m certain the exchange is happening today, and it’s happening at the boatyard. I need to put the call in and run. Pretend that I never met Danny Black, but remember that what I’ve done was for my flesh and blood—the only flesh and blood I have.

  “You won’t touch me if I say no,” I whisper, hitting him below the belt. I don’t care. He’s playing dirty. I’m playing dirty. We’re both dirty. Perfect for each other. My hair is grabbed, his erection growing where it lies on my lower stomach. He yanks hard, demanding I look at him. I won’t. “No,” I say, simple and firm, and he growls, yanking my hair again, rolling his hips into mine. I bite down on my teeth, blinking back the sting in my eyes, trying not to embrace the sparks of life inside me. “No,” I grate, jerking my head back until my hair pulls and my skull meets the wall.

  “Rose . . .” His voice is full of warning, his cock now leaking pre-cum on the skin of my tummy.

  “No.” Now, I look him in the eye, forcing mine clear of the building tears. “No.” I find my fists opening and clenching, over and over, the restraint needed becoming too much. “No. No. No. N—”

  His mouth meets mine and my refusals are swallowed whole, along with my willpower. “Yes,” he whispers, taking my mouth greedily, not letting me come up for air. I taste Scotch on him, and pure, raw Danny.

  He is my utopia. My Achilles heel.

  My downfall?

  “Say it,” he growls, his demand thick with need. “Say the fucking word, Rose.”

  My head and my heart argue, fight and throw different orders at me, and I sob through our kiss, so fucking torn. I can’t. I can. Yes. No. Help me! He’s losing, and he must sense it because he risks breaking our consuming kiss to find my eyes, holding my cheeks firmly in his palms. His expression is still cut, but the rare softness I love is lingering beyond somewhere. It only makes my challenge more challenging. Part of me wants to do this. To have one more time completely consumed by him. The other part is fighting it with all I have. Walk away now.

  “I think you should call Amber,” I tell him, ensuring I keep my certain eyes on him so he sees my resolution. I can’t have this one more time. I hate Amber, hate her with a vengeance, because if Danny doesn’t die today, I will, and then Amber will have him. Any willing Amber will get the man I love . . . if he lives.

  His nostrils flare, ice filling his eyes. “I don’t want Amber. I want you.”

  He wants me. No one has ever wanted me before. The real me. My closing throat starts to suffocate me, conflict tearing me apart. “No.” I must be strong. I want him, so much, but I want something else more. “You really can’t have me, Danny.”

  “Who fucking says?”

  “Me,” I scream, losing the plot. “Just leave me alone!” I try to push him away, my palms forcefully shoving into his chest. He tussles with them, our bodies becoming a mess of grappling limbs. I’m hysterical, shouting through my frustration and hopelessness as Danny fights to gain control of me. His hold of my wrists is strong, immovable, as is his full weight wedged into my chest, pinning me to the wall. “Please,” I murmur pitifully, looking away. “Let me go.”

  He releases me in an instant.

  “No!” I grab him, and he growls, spinning me around and pushing me forward into the wall. My robe is yanked down my arms and tossed aside, allowing his naked front to meet my naked back. By the time I locate the use of my arms, he’s already spread the length of me, his lips at my ear, breathing slowly in and out, wreaking havoc on my nervous system to match the state of my head. His teeth graze my fleshy lobe, dragging wickedly. His hands come up and cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing circles around my nipples. I whimper and bend at the waist to escape, pushing my ass into his arousal.

  “You feel that, don’t you, Rose?”

  “Yes,” I breathe shakily.

  He pinches each nub harshly, and then swivels his hips, driving deeply into me. He gasps, and my forehead falls to the wall, my shaking world calming. Peace finds me. Ecstasy clouds everything. “You feel me.” He thrusts once, pushing me farther into the wall, pausing and growling as my internal walls grab on, stroking him, encouraging him, begging for him. “Yes, you feel me.” His hands clamp down over my boobs as he retreats and buries himself hard and high. I lose my breath, lose my mind, lose sight of my whole purpose. I bend my arms on the wall, using my forearm to cushion my head. There is nothing I can do. Nothing I want to do. “And I feel you.” His advancements quicken, but every move is meticulously executed. I close my eyes and accept what needs to be accepted.

  I feel him. Hear him.

  And for my fucking sins, I love him.

  My ass starts to sway, tingles take hold, and I’m a slave to his merciless taking of me. Not because it’s hard or forceful, but because this moment, this intimate, understanding moment, will be lost in the carnage to come.

  The sounds of his pleasure drowns out my helpless thoughts, and when he drops my breasts and takes my hips, I know he’s looking for more leverage, ready for the home stretch. I build and build, get higher and higher.

  My orgasm rules me when it hits, swallowing me up in its intensity and completely blanking my mind of everything other than how free I feel in this moment. I don’t cry out, just tense. The surge of pressure from Danny’s climax forces him forward, his body falling against mine and forcing me to the wall.

  He takes a moment, panting into my neck, not letting one drip of his essence escape me. Then he abruptly pulls away, leaving me plastered against the wall, naked and exposed. “Get ready.” He spits over his shoulder as he walks away.

  “Fuck you,” I snap in return, making him stop abruptly. He looks back and smiles. So I flip him the finger as I dip and pick up the robe, pulling it on to cover myself up, feeling dirtier than I’ve ever felt before.

  Danny pivots and stalks toward me, but I don’t back up. No way.

  He reaches me.

  Snarls at me.

  And then smashes his lips on mine.

  “Get the hell off me, you asshole.” I shove him away, and he walks backward, obviously relishing my fury. This is so fucking toxic. His expression screams victory.

  I go to the bathroom, shut the door, and grab the phone. I hate myself. I hate my fucking self so much right now. I’m condemning a man I love to death. Tears fall from my eyes, tracking past hollow cheeks. This is the end. I don’t know if I’ll even survive today, let alone whatever hell Nox has planned for me next. And I’m so fucking tired. I’m sick of being a pawn.

  I punch out a message through a sob. It’s done. And so am I.

  * * *

  The boatyard today. I’m not sure what time, but it looks like we’re leaving soon. He’s making me go with him.

  Chapter 21

  DANNY

  * * *

  I feel like someone has stamped on my skull repeatedly while I’ve been sleeping. Shit, I’m sure my head could fall off my neck at any moment. The Scotch is to blame, but Rose hasn’t helped my sorry state. Neither have I.

  I don’t know what I just did. What I was hoping to achieve. A slow, painful death? I scoff to myself as I lean down to tie the laces of my boots. I’m pretty sure you can’t get much more painful than this.

  When I sit back up, I get a head rush, having to slowly blink to clear the black spots from my vision. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, reaching up and feeling at my sensitive scalp. What a fucking mess. I’m sweating Scotch, my stomach is revo
lting every sip of water I take, and my brain feels like it’s shrunk to half its size. Not the best shape to be in when I’m handing over millions of dollars’ worth of firearms.

  I look across to the bathroom where Rose is taking her time getting ready. “Hurry the fuck up,” I yell, falling to my back, utilizing her dragging feet to my advantage. I close my eyes and flashes of last night come back to me, and with each one, I cringe myself the fuck away from it, not bothering to take the time to think about the finer details. The small flashbacks are hideous. The full picture will likely send me off the deep end. But there’s one thing amid the hideousness poking at my memory that I can’t cast aside so easily. Something she said. About dying. That recollection came to me the second I shot my load into her, falling against her back and nailing her to the wall. She doesn’t care if she dies. That’s been proven. And now she’s actually said it.

  And she’s fighting me harder than she has before. A tiny bit of me thinks she’s just being stubborn. The largest part of me is concerned it’s more. But what?

  I hear the door shift and drop my head to the side. She’s in the doorway, wearing the British sweater I bought her and those perfect figure-hugging jeans. I scowl at her, stupidly moving my eyes up to her face. She’s not wearing makeup. Why the fuck did she take so long if she’s not spent that time applying makeup? And her hair’s damp, all tugged up into a haphazard knot. She’s made zero effort.

  And she’s still fucking perfect.

  “About time,” I grunt, cringing my way up to standing. My brain drops from my head into my boots as I walk to the door, feeling somewhat unstable. I hear a small chuckle from behind me and swing around, way too fast. The room swooshes, and I grab the door to stabilize myself, making Rose’s chuckle break out into a full-on belly laugh. The sound would be wonderful if it wasn’t so fucking loud and irritating. I level her with a pissed-off stare, and she quickly snaps out of her fit, straightening and entwining her hands in front of her.

  “I guess fucking a whore against the wall didn’t have the desired effect,” she says calmly, her face deadpan. My mood takes a further nosedive as she walks forward, throwing a filthy look my way as she passes. “Maybe you would’ve had better success with Amber.”

  And like she’s heard her name, the woman herself walks out of another room, probably after seeing to one of my men. A bit of stress relief before the exchange. I get it. Her eyes take in the scene. Me. Rose. Leaving a room that isn’t mine. “What are you doing here?” I ask, cold and sharp, not that Amber’s used to anything more from me.

  “I was just . . .” She thumbs over her shoulder to the door she just came from. She doesn’t want to say it. She doesn’t want to tell me that her pussy was another man’s for a while. What, does she think I’ll give a shit? Stupid woman. “I was coming to find you.” She smiles coyly.

  I see Rose’s stance noticeably straighten. “You’re a few minutes too late,” she says, walking away, leaving Amber staring at her back. “He used this whore instead.” Her arms go up in the air above her head, her index fingers on each hand pointing down to herself like flashing arrows. “I’d like to say you missed out on something special”—Rose glances over her shoulder as she reaches the end of the corridor—“but I’d be lying.”

  Fuck me, hold me back before I throw her over the gallery landing. I leave Amber where she is, looking bewildered, and stalk after the woman who I think I could take the greatest ever pleasure in killing. Every step I take, my brain rattles and my mood worsens. I hit the stairs, a few steps behind Rose, noticing she’s quickened her pace. She knows what’s coming. I reach for her wrist, missing it when she stealthily moves, leaving me losing my balance and stumbling down the final few steps.

  Fuck!

  I hit the deck with a thud, and I lie on my back, blinking up at the ceiling. Rose appears, smiling smugly down at me. Bitch.

  “All right?” Brad asks, offering his hand and pulling me to my feet.

  My ears are red hot. I’m pretty sure they have steam coming out of them. I straighten as Brad’s nose wrinkles and he moves away, looking me up and down. “You smell as bad as you look.”

  “Go fuck yourself.” I turn, ready to tackle Rose, but get tugged back toward Brad.

  “We have things to do.” He cocks his head, screaming a warning at me to hold back on the pussy shit until we’ve gotten through the day. He holds up my phone, and I snatch it, turning it on. It dings, chimes, and vibrates in my hand when it comes to life.

  “Spittle,” I grunt, wiping the ten missed calls and ignoring his voicemail. I can’t deal with him right now. I can barely deal with the exchange. “We all set?”

  “All set,” Brad confirms. “Ringo’s gone fishing in his shit heap boat, and the rest of the men are scoping a mile radius.” We start toward the car, and I pull Rose along with me. “Are you kidding me?” Brad stops in his tracks, pointing at her.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You are not bringing her. Why the fuck would you do that?”

  I stall, searching for my reasoning. I never gave it much thought, really. Failing to think clearly is a huge red flag. I just told her she was coming and thought no more of it. Truth is, I don’t want her out of my sight.

  I don’t get a chance to think of a response. Brad takes Rose and leads her back to the stairs, his look daring me to argue. And for once, I don’t. He’s being sensible. I am not.

  “He’ll be back before you know it,” he says sarcastically.

  Rose snorts, making her way up the steps. “I don’t care if I never see him again.”

  Ouch. “Fuck you, Rose,” I spit.

  She meets Amber at the top, and the look Amber throws Rose should turn her to a pile of dust. Not my girl. It’s water off a duck’s back with my girl. Rose stops, looks Amber up and down, before getting on her way. “It’s your turn tonight. He’s in the mood for rough.”

  My jaw is tight as I gaze up at her, getting farther and farther away. That fucking woman has me straddling the line between fury and amazement.

  “Come on.” Brad nudges me in the arm, and I slowly cast my eyes to his. “Danny?”

  “I’ll be two minutes.” I find myself running up the stairs after Rose, my vision now clear, my body now stable. My target is my only focus. She’s a firecracker. My firecracker. I need to feel her one more time before I go.

  “Danny, are you fucking shitting me?”

  “Two minutes,” I call, passing a stunned Amber who’s forced to jump from my charging path. Rose looks over her shoulder, quickening her pace when she spots me in pursuit. “Don’t run,” I warn, only making her break into a sprint. “Rose.”

  She zooms down the corridor like a rocket, me on her tail, and when she reaches the door to her room, she bombs in and slams it. I snort in the face of the wood between us, disregarding the fact it’s only just been repaired after I practically knocked it off its hinges only the other day. I shoulder-charge it and fall into the room, quickly locating her running to the bathroom. She doesn’t get to slam that door. It bounces off the toe of my boot, and she squeals, all high-pitched and girlie, pricking at my delicate brain. I fill the doorway, legs wide, hands braced into each side of the wood. “Come here,” I pant as she backs up toward the sink.

  “Fuck off, Danny. You’ve got what you wanted.”

  “Have I?”

  Her gaze jumps past me. She’s trying to gage her chances of escape. Stupid woman. She doesn’t want to escape. Not really, no matter how much she wants to convince me or herself otherwise. “What do you want then?” Her hands disappear into the sleeves of her sweater, like she’s trying to cover up as much of her skin as she can. Then she folds her arms. She’s mentally restraining herself.

  “Come here.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Come here.”

  “No.”

  “Do it.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I steam forward and pull her arms loose of her torso, shoving them to her sides. �
�Kiss me.” I cage her in, one arm on either side of her against the sink. Her pretty face is taut, her lips pressed tightly shut. “You don’t want to?”

  “N . . .” She fades off, and I cock my head.

  It’s her that makes the first move. All her.

  She grabs me and hauls me onto her mouth, going at me like a mad woman. Her moan contradicts her hands that are trying to push me away. The heat of her body contradicts her attempts to be cold. This woman is one huge bag of contradictions. But she needs to realize that she causes conflict in me too. She is the epitome of weakness for me. A weakness that I want. Because while she strips me of strength to some extent, she injects me with it in others. My heart beats stronger with her around. I have purpose like I’ve never had.

  I loop one arm around her waist and tug her into me, my other hand taking her jaw, squeezing.

  “No, please.” She suddenly pulls away, turning her head, wriggling to free herself. “No more, Danny.”

  A little stunned, I step back, her rejection stinging. Because I sense something in her tone I’ve never heard before. Resolution. My headache is suddenly back, my body suddenly shaky again. Her resolve is a smack in the face. Her expression as fierce as she is. “No more games?” I didn’t mean it as a question. It was supposed to be an assertive statement. None of this has been a game to me, not for a while now.

  “No more anything.” She stares me down, refusing to look away from me, strong and firm in her stance. “You and me.” Her finger drifts between us. “We’re impossible.”

  “Who says?”

  “Me.” She turns away and drops her eyes from the mirror, hiding from me. “We’re toxic all on our own. Together, we’re poison.”

  And explosive. And perfect for each other. I engage my muscles to approach, but hear footsteps coming from behind.