by Stacy Gail
Something wild flared in his expression before his other hand smacked her opposite cheek. The sharp crack of it, coupled with the red-hot tingling sensation that arrowed straight to her cleft had her gasping. Fire coursed through her, making her moan even as her legs began to quiver. An unexpected third smack of his palm landed lower this time. The shock of it caused some small tension to be released deep in her belly, and that release felt so blissful, so unbelievably good, she couldn’t stop herself from crying out.
“God,” she whispered, stunned that she could actually experience a mini-climax just through a smack or two—or three—on her ass. “Fuck me, Killian. Please.”
“You know it.” His tone was distracted as he backed her up against the glass, stripping her bra from her as he went. The glass at her back was cool enough to make her gasp into his mouth, and she loved the way he smiled against her lips, as if he loved the telltale noise. He handed her the condom, freeing his hands to tug the thong she wore down her legs, and she took a moment to kick free of it before rolling the protection onto his thick, throbbing cock.
“I think we’re going to miss the first part of the game,” she said, breathless with anticipation. “You look like you’re going to be much too busy for it.”
“I don’t want you to miss anything.” For a moment his hand rested over hers as she caressed his stiffened flesh, letting her stroke that hard length. Then, before she knew what he had planned, he whirled her around and placed her hands against the glass, bent her forward so she could lean against it, and pulled her hips toward his. “I told you, I want this day to be unforgettable.”
She would have reminded him that she thought everything about him was unforgettable, but he chose that moment to surge powerfully inside her. She cried out, arching her back and striving to perfect the angle of penetration. His strong hands dug into her hips, pulling her into each hard thrust. She gasped at how full she felt, and how perfectly her man hit that hidden, magic spot deep inside her.
In that moment, she would have sworn on her life that his body had been made to fit with hers, just as she’d been made to fit him.
Withdrawing, plunging, retreating, surging... His pace was savage, driven, and each thrust brought her new pleasure until she overflowed with it. She came, hard, while her throat scraped itself raw from her cries. Wave after wave of pleasure drowned her, and if he hadn’t been holding her hips so hard she would have collapsed to her knees under the sheer weight of it.
The rhythm of his thrusts increased, and one of his hands slid from her hip to delve between her legs. Impossibly, yet another orgasm hit, riding the tail end of the first, and this time he came with her, magnificently brutal in his final thrusts. His groans of completion took form, and only afterward did she realize that over and over he’d said one word, like a prayer.
Dallas.
Chapter Seventeen
“Okay, I’m going to level with you. I’m just not understanding this whole strike zone jazz.” Once again wearing the borrowed green and yellow dress, Dallas sat in the comfortable stadium seat on the viewing balcony. Her bare feet were propped up on the balcony’s low wall, and she had a box of Cracker Jacks in hand. “I mean, it’s a frigging concept. It’s not a real thing that you can touch or see. Every time a batter steps up to the plate, that zone thingy changes because of the height of the player or the way he hunches in his stance. And when a pitch is thrown, the umpire is giving what basically amounts to a personal opinion on where that ball came in, and guess what? He’s wrong half the time.”
“Welcome to the eternal joys of baseball. Bitching about bad calls is as American as hot dogs and Cracker Jacks.” As if to demonstrate, he tilted his own box of Cracker Jacks into his mouth, only to pull it away when a small plastic package tumbled out. He caught it just in time, then set his box aside to examine it. “There it is, the real reason Cracker Jacks are so awesome—the hidden prize.”
“You got a prize?” She glanced over at what he held and huffed out her envy. “I didn’t get a prize. No fair.”
“Every box of Cracker Jacks has a prize. You just haven’t found yours yet.”
“Really?” With renewed interest she peered into the box. “Cool.”
“How the hell did you make it through childhood without having a single box of Cracker Jacks?”
“My childhood ended a lot earlier than most.”
“Still no excuse. It’s unthinkable that you didn’t have at least one box of Cracker Jacks in your growing-up life. I can guarantee you all my kids are going to have a shit-ton of Cracker Jacks.”
The thought of Killian and children almost made her swallow a piece of caramel-covered popcorn whole. “Then you’re destined to be a better father than mine ever was. I remember one time he threw away a toy that had been left in a box of cereal, when both Des and I had already put dibs on it. I think the reason he did it was because he didn’t want us fighting over it.”
The disgusted sound Killian made was sharp enough to strip wallpaper. “Piece of shit.”
“I can’t argue with that, sadly enough. I look back now and realize my dad had been a dick long before he robbed us blind, then left me to fend for myself in the world.”
“About your dad,” he said after a moment, idly opening the toy’s packaging. “Remember that trip out of town I made this past week?”
“Mm-hm. What about it?”
“I actually went to see your father.”
Her head snapped toward him so fast she heard something pop in her neck. “What?”
“There were some things I had to say, and it was necessary to look him in the eye while I said them.”
“Necessary?”
“I wanted him to understand I was not fucking around. That meant a personal visit was in order.”
So many thoughts jammed into her head, she had trouble deciding what to say first. “Where did you find him? And how?”
“I hired a private investigator who tracked good old Jack Faircloth down in the Gulf of Mexico. Offshore oil rig worker,” he explained when she just stared at him. “Come to find out, shortly after he abandoned you, he started working the rigs. Worked his way up the ranks, got promoted a time or two. It was a good-paying job for him.”
She caught the subtle emphasis. “Was?”
“He doesn’t get to have an easy life, Dallas. Not after traumatizing a five-year-old Des. Not after everything his neglect put you through. And since he never remarried and he doesn’t have any other kids, I have no remorse for the things I said and did.”
She had to swallow to get her throat unstuck. “What did you say to him?”
“I needed him to understand that there are always consequences for cruelty, and at long last that consequence had caught up with him. Me.”
Holy crap. “Did he know who you were?”
“He did after I introduced myself. Not gonna lie, his reaction was almost the same as yours when you heard my last name. I didn’t give him a chance to tell me how he really felt, though, because I needed to let him know his ass had been fired from that sweet-paying job of his.”
“Fired?”Oh, dear God, he didn’t...
“Yeah. Turns out, I know the owner of that oil rig. He dabbles in a little family farm near Brownsville, which basically supplies beef to a fast-food chain that serves up cheap meat on a bun. All I had to do was pick up a phone to have that shitheel of a father of yours fired.”
Yep, he did. He totally did.
“But I wanted your old man to know that his consequence wasn’t going to stop there.”
She stared at him, almost afraid to ask. “What else did you say?”
“I kept it short and sweet. If he gets himself another job, I wanted him to know that I’ll be there to crush it. If he goes out-of-state looking for a job, I’ll be there. He goes out of the country, same fucking story. I let him know he’d just pulled down the last paycheck he’ll ever have in his miserable waste of a life. Here’s hoping he spent the last nineteen years investing wis
ely, because he’s never earning another penny from here on in.”
“Killian.” She stared at him, torn between being horrified and touched that he’d gone to such lengths to make that man pay for the years of neglect she’d suffered. “Why? It doesn’t change the past.”
“That’s not the point, Spice. That piece of shit abandoned you because his wife cheated on him. You had nothing to do with that, so why the hell he took it out on you, I’ll never know. But I do know this—he never faced a single consequence until now. I’m going to make sure he dies broken and alone and begging for someone to help, which is exactly how your sweet aunt was in her dying days. I only hope he’s shown more compassion and understanding than he gave you and that good woman.”
Oh, this scary man... “So in other words, he pissed you off.”
“His existence pisses me off.”
She gave it one last shot. “I just don’t think he’s worth the effort, baby.”
“Are you kidding me? When you were eight, that fucker hit you in the face. He did it to force you to let go of Des, which doomed you to live with all that misplaced guilt for nearly two goddamn decades. Every night terror you’ve suffered belongs to him. Every tear you’ve cried—also his. Making him miserable for the rest of his life is the least I can do to pay him back for all the misery his neglect gave you. That’s how it is, Dallas,” he talked over her when she opened her mouth, and she could tell by the hard edge of his tone that debating it further would only make him dig in more. “I would’ve done the same thing to Elliott Wagner if he were still alive, but sadly that fuckwad is beyond my reach.”
She frowned, not sure why that name was so familiar, or why it made her stomach turn. “Who?”
“Your pedo-perv. Turns out, he wound up in prison—sexual assault of a minor. To no one’s surprise, his sorry ass got jumped while he was on the inside, and someone gutted that perv like a fish. Saved me the trouble of getting it done myself. Now,” he went on casually while she wrestled with the enormity of his multiple bomb-drops, “let’s see what my prize is.” He opened up the package he’d fished out of his Cracker Jacks and scowled. “What the hell? It’s a dumbass QR code. At the very least I was hoping for a temporary tattoo.”
“I don’t care what I get,” she managed to say with almost no tremor in her voice. But damn, this man was protective of her in ways no one had ever been. It brought tears to her eyes, and suddenly all she wanted to do was curl up in his lap and never leave. “It’s from my first Cracker Jacks at my first ballgame. I’ll treasure whatever I get until the day I die.”
“Trust me, if it’s a QR code, you’re not gonna treasure it.”
“It came from you, so I already treasure it.” With a tremulous smile, she reached into the box and pulled out a thin strip sheathed in clear cellophane, identical to the package he’d pulled out. “Uh-oh. You’re not going to freak out if it’s another QR code, are you?”
“What I’m going to do is buy the company that makes Cracker Jacks just so I can put real toy prizes back in every box. This code shit sucks.”
“You can’t buy everything that annoys you.” Suddenly it was easier to laugh, and she pulled her prize free of the cellophane sleeve. “Let’s see, we have...a lion tattoo on one side, and a QR code on the other.” Grinning, she showed it to him. “Neener-neener, dude. I have a temporary tattoo, and you don’t.”
“Damn it.” With a grin of his own, he plucked it from her fingers to examine it. “You know, I just had a great idea on how we can both enjoy your prize.”
“But I want to treasure it forever.”
“You can treasure the memory of using this tattoo. On me.”
“On you?” She looked him up and down while her blood began to warm. “I’m listening.”
“See, to place this tattoo,” he said, holding it up while keeping his eyes locked with hers, “you have to lick the skin where you want to place it. Get it all nice and wet. But I’m thinking I might want this tattoo placed where I can’t reach with my tongue. But you sure as hell can reach it with yours.”
Oh, she loved it when he was naughty. “You sure you don’t want to try to lick your skin yourself first?”
“It’s your mouth that I want on my dick, Spice. Not my own.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh my God, just when I think you can’t shock me anymore, you say something like that. You really want a temporary tattoo of a lion on your dick?”
“I already said what I wanted on my dick—your mouth. If I have to use the excuse of a temporary tattoo to get you there, my cock is ready to roar.”
She burst out laughing. “You’re incorrigible.”
“What I am is horny. We have the seventh inning stretch coming up, so why don’t we go back inside—” He interrupted himself when the high trill of his phone went off. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching for his back pocket. “If this is some asshole calling me about business, I’m going to blow a fucking gasket. I cleared my decks so I could have the entire weekend free...” His words trickled into silence when he saw the screen, before he quickly thumbed the touchscreen. “Could’ve sworn I told you I was spending the day with Dallas and didn’t want to be disturbed, Fin. This better be good.”
“Little brothers,” she smirked, but it quickly disappeared when Killian shot to his feet, his eyes suddenly hot enough to burn as they cut her way.
“Yeah, I hear ya, brother. We’ll be back in less than an hour.”
“What?” Her stomach tightened as she, too, got to her feet while Killian tucked his phone back into his pocket. Please, don’t let it be Des...
“Fin dropped in on Des and found him disoriented and incoherent,” he said grimly, confirming her worst fears. “They’re flying him into San Antonio as we speak. You need to brace yourself, Dallas, because it’s about as bad as it gets. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”
“If I had a dollar for every noncompliant patient who landed their butts back in the hospital because they ignored my advice, I’d have retired long ago and bought my own island.” Dr. Leah Vasquez, a petite woman with iron-colored hair and wearing a long white doctor’s coat came into the private family room located within the ICU. It was a small room, way too crowded for Killian alone, much less his brothers, their women and Dallas. When Killian asked Fin if there was anyone Des would have wanted there—someone who meant something special to him—Fin just shook his head.
That was something Killian couldn’t get out of his mind. The party couldn’t be over yet for Des. He hadn’t had a chance to really live, settle down, start a family. There was so much he still needed to do.
Dallas sat hunched in a ball in one of the armchairs, knees up and arms curled around them. “I don’t understand. You’re not saying Des did this to himself, are you?”
Dr. Vasquez raised a brow at her. “And you are...?”
“Dallas Faircloth, Des’s sister. Half-sister. The one who’s ready to donate a portion of her liver.”
“Got it. Family.” Dr. Vasquez nodded in a no-nonsense manner. “Once your brother is well enough, Ms. Faircloth, I strongly suggest you beat the crap out of him for undoing all the good work we’ve been doing with his liver in getting it stabilized over the past three months. He undid it by drinking beer, something he says isn’t really alcohol.”
Fin stepped forward, his face tense. “He’s talking? Like, coherently?”
The doctor nodded. “Once we got him stabilized, he was able to tell us what we already knew, thanks to his blood alcohol levels. But we’ve decided to sedate him to keep everything on an even keel, so I’m afraid you can’t talk with him right now.”
Fin’s face was like stone. “When my wife and I visited Des at his house earlier today, he wasn’t making any sense. Not gonna lie, it scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m glad it scared you, because it made you get him the medical help he needed as quickly as possible. Which leads me to explain what’s going on.” The doctor took a deep breath, and for Killian it was one of
the most ominous sounds he’d ever heard. “Desmond Brody is suffering ALF, or acute liver failure. With this type of sudden liver dysfunction, it can cause major damage to other organs, even death. We’ve tried just about every trick in the book to get his liver to stabilize by itself over the past three months, and as you all know his system has been slow to respond to whatever treatments we threw at him. Knowing that, and knowing that ALF moves fast and can kill within days or even hours, I’m afraid we’re now down to the last resort, which is transplantation.”
“Okay.” With a surprisingly calm expression, Dallas unfolded herself from her chair and nodded at the doctor. “I’m the one who’s the compatible donor, so let’s do this. What do I need to do first?”
“Paperwork.” Despite the tension in the room, Dr. Vasquez chuckled. “Welcome to the world of medicine, where paperwork rules supreme. Why don’t you follow me and we’ll get you admitted, and then we need to run you through a bunch of tests to confirm you’re compatible with your brother. Did you say you’re half-siblings?”
“Yes. Des and I share a mother, and these guys here share a father with him, and that means we all share Des as our brother.” Dallas blew out a sharp breath. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s great. Not everyone has a large and healthy family pool they can dip into if they happen to need a liver. Desmond’s very fortunate to have you all to count on.” The doctor beamed as if she’d just met the frigging Brady Bunch. “Okay, Ms. Faircloth, why don’t you come along with me to meet with some of our admin people, and we’ll get you admitted.”
“Hey.” Killian grabbed her as she headed past him, his stomach suddenly feeling like concrete as the enormity of what was about to happen hit him full-force. He kissed her hard while battling the craziest urge to pick her up and run the hell out of there before she could be cut open. “Want me to go with you?”
“I’ve got this. But thank you, baby.” With a brave smile that made something painful in his chest twist, she vanished through the door with the doc. He stood there, staring blindly at where she’d been seconds before, and tried to keep himself from going after her anyway.
