by Malone, M.
But I’m not letting her off that easy. It’s too good, too hot, this erotic game we’re playing. And I want her screaming for it. I hold her off, sliding in and out in shallow thrusts, refusing to give her the deep penetration we both need.
“Stop torturing me.” Her eyes betray her pleasure even as she’s cursing me. She moans and gyrates her hips. She looks so sexy arching into it, her face so open and trusting that I can’t take it anymore. I thrust deep, stretching her legs back until they almost hit her shoulders. She gasps as her body clenches down so hard I see stars.
It’s like dying, a little bit at a time, or the burn of a blade right before the final cut. I’m fucking her hard, trying to put her through the mattress but I’m also trying to merge with her.
Trying to make sure she never leaves me.
“You’re mine, Emma. Mine.”
She must feel it too, how close I am to going crazy because she strokes the side of my face, her eyes holding mine even as she starts to cry out, her own orgasm ripping her apart.
“I’m yours,” she agrees.
Then her eyes clamp shut as she shudders beneath me, her body clamping down on my dick like a tight, wet fist.
“Emma.”
I try to slow down, determined to draw out her orgasm but the tight contractions of her body are impossible to ignore. The familiar burn of my own release threatens, the pressure and heat gathering low, tingling at the base of my spine. She reaches behind me and clamps her hands on my ass, pulling me against her harder, forcing me deeper.
“I’m yours,” she insists, “And you are mine.”
That breaks me.
As I come, my orgasm shattering me into a thousand pieces, I bury myself into her again and again and again.
Chapter Seventeen
Emma
The driveway is empty a few days later when we pull up to my house. Tank didn’t even want to come back here but I need to pack some stuff. I also need to check the mail for bills and information from the financial aid office at school.
Even though my mail is being forwarded, I don’t want to chance missing something major.
I get out and Tank follows. His eyes sweep up and down the street, scanning for threats.
“He’s lucky he’s not here,” Tank mutters.
He grabs the stack of letters and flyers stuffed into the mailbox and hands it to me. I flip through the stack quickly, pulling out anything that’s addressed to me, and then put them in my bag. I open the door with my key and then put Ivy’s mail on the hall table.
“Ivy? Hello?”
After what happened last week, I’m not taking any chances that Jon might be here, even if his car isn’t out front.
When we pass by the kitchen, I shiver thinking of what happened.
Where is Jon now?
And more importantly, where is Ivy?
I won’t rest easy until I know she’s safe. If he got rough with me, then I have no doubt he’d do the same thing to her. If he hasn’t been doing it already.
In my room, I point Tank toward my closet. He pulls out my battered brown suitcase and I start throwing in clothes. I skip the heavy winter stuff since it’ll be spring soon and grab all my favorite skirts, slacks and cardigans.
The rest of my stuff can wait. I’ll have to get it when I have more time.
Tank watches silently as I pull out handfuls of lingerie to add to the pile and then rush into the hall bathroom to grab my toiletry bag.
“Let’s go. I need to get you out of here before one of them shows up because I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
He hefts the suitcase and I follow him out to the car.
Sadness descends as we pull away from the house. I grew up here. My last memories of my parents are in this house but maybe that’s why I need to leave. Staying here where the best and worst moments of my life occurred isn’t helping me move on. I lean against the window and watch the streets go by in a blur of motion. Before long we arrive at Tank’s apartment.
“Home sweet home,” he says.
“Just for a little while.”
There’s no way this can be a permanent thing. He thinks he wants me to stay right now but that’s only because he’s never lived with anyone before. Once the shine wears off, he’ll want his space and his privacy back.
He takes my suitcase in the house and deposits it in his room. “Do you want to go out for dinner?”
His voice carries from the bedroom to the front where I plop down on the couch.
“That’s fine.”
I pick up the remote on the cushion next to me and turn on the TV. It’s showing a sports station. I flip channels until I find a home decorating marathon. The stack of mail falls out of the top of my bag, scattering across the floor. Most of the envelopes are bills but the last one I don’t recognize. I open the envelope.
At first, I’m sure what I’m seeing is a mistake. How can this many zeroes fit on a check?
But there’s no mistake and I can’t even blame it on sloppy handwriting. It’s a computer generated check from First National Bank and Trust for one million dollars. My finger traces the six zeroes over and over. Then over the name on the account.
Maxwell Dean Marshall
I dig frantically in my bag for my phone. I’m not even sure exactly what I’m planning to do but this check has to be returned. Mr. Marshall must not have thought I was serious when I said I wouldn’t help him. Or it’s some kind of mistake. Maybe he authorized the check before I came last week and didn’t stop it in time.
I search through my contacts to find the number for his hotel. A man answers. The voice is slightly familiar but I don’t have time to try to puzzle it out.
“Hi, is Mr. Marshall available?”
“No, he’s not. Can I take a message?”
“Tell him that Emma is coming over. I need to give him something.”
I hang up before he can try to talk me out of it. If I have to I’ll just shove the envelope into his hands and walk away. He’s probably one of Mr. Marshall’s many assistants. I don’t care who takes the check as long as it’s out of my hands.
“Tank, I have to go out.”
He appears at my elbow, looking concerned. “What do you need? I’ll drive you.”
“It’s personal stuff. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” I lean up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his lips. He softens slightly.
“Call me if you need me.”
I grab my coat from the back of the chair and shove my arms into it. The cold air hits me as I rush out the door since I didn’t even bother to button my coat. My car emits a soft purr when I turn the key. I gave Tank a hard time about it but I’m truly grateful. Whatever his friend did to my car, it’s been running better than ever.
As I drive, my mind is all over the place. How can I take anything from his father when I completely understand why Tank didn’t want to see him? Although that’s not the only reason I can’t do this. It feels wrong to attach currency to any part of what I’ve shared with Tank.
How do you attach a price tag to falling in love with someone?
By the time I arrive at the hotel, I’m almost sick thinking about the envelope in my bag. I hand the valet my car key and run for the doors.
“Wait, Miss. Your ticket!”
“I’ll be right back.”
I don’t stop, barreling through the elegant lobby toward the elevators. The businessman on board looks shocked when I stick my hand between the rapidly closing doors.
“Sorry,” I mutter before hitting the button for the penthouse.
He glances at me from the corner of his eye and I use the time to slow my breathing. He gets off on the eighth floor and I ride the rest of the way up to the penthouse alone.
The doors open with a ding and I walk down the plushly carpeted hallway to the double doors. They open before I even get there. It’s Jon. I stop, mid-stride.
Stupid stupid stupid.
No wonder his voice sounded familiar. I’ve only spok
en to Jon on the phone once or twice.
“Emma.”
I turn around to run back the other way. He’s on me before I even reach the elevators.
“Get in here.”
He drags me back toward the hotel room. His hand clamps over my mouth so tightly that I can’t even bite him. Once we’re in the suite, he kicks the door closed behind us. The main living area is empty.
“If you hadn’t hung up on me, I could have told you Mr. Marshall is in a meeting across town. You’re too late.”
He’s talking to me in the calmest voice, as if he’s not holding me in a stranglehold.
“You know it’s interesting how after visiting with you, suddenly the old man decides to do independent audits on all his accounts. Am I supposed to believe you two are just besties now, huh? What happened Emma? Were you worried there wouldn’t be any money left before you could get your hooks into him?”
I scream against the back of his hand. He squeezes my jaw so hard my teeth grind together.
“Shut up, bitch. I know what’s going on now. I saw the check, Emma. You can drop the innocent act.”
I stop struggling momentarily. He knows about the money? I didn’t think Mr. Marshall would have told anyone about it. Isn’t it illegal to do stuff like this? Then I realize he’s a very rich man and probably used to giving people large sums of money all the time.
I struggle against him and try to elbow him. He snickers.
“I just figured you were cozying up to the old bastard so he’d pay your rent for a while. Or give you some money for tuition. But a million dollars? You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”
His arms tighten around me. I can feel his breath, hot on the side of my face. A ripple of disgust rolls through me. His hand has finally loosened slightly so I wrench my head to the side.
“I don’t want it! If you’re the one who sent it than you can take it back.”
“Let me guess, you want more? You probably figured a million isn’t enough for a rich old codger like Mr. Marshall. Well, I protect him from greedy bitches like you every day.”
In his mania, his grip has loosened enough that I can lift my leg a bit. I raise my foot and stomp down on his toe. He stumbles and I run to the other side of the room, so the couch is between us.
“Protect him? You’re stealing from him.”
I look back and forth between where he’s standing and the door. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe.
“You’d better not be thinking of going to the media with this.”
“That’s not why I’m here. Just tell Mr. Marshall I don’t want any parts of this. I’m tearing the check up.”
He leaps forward over the couch and manages to snag the edge of my coat. I fall backward into the coffee table.
“Get away from me!”
I roll away and try to pull out of his grasp. Then he’s on me, holding me down. I can feel the imprint of his arousal. He laughs and grinds it against me. As we struggle, something falls and crashes to the ground. Pieces of crockery land next to me.
Voices sound outside the door in the hallway. Jon looks up and I grab one of the sharp pieces on the floor and swipe out blindly.
“Aah!” He falls to the side clutching his face.
I jump up and race for the door, pushing past the redheaded woman who has just entered.
* * *
The bellman in the hallway jumps out of the way as I burst through the doors and run for the elevator that just opened. I know what I must look like with a fresh bruise on my cheek and my blouse hanging open.
I bang the buttons rapidly until the doors close.
“Get back here, you crazy bitch. She attacked me. Stop her!”
I can hear Jon’s voice getting smaller and smaller as the elevator descends.
When the elevator car finally reaches the lobby, I run past the small crowd waiting to get on. There are a few shouts and gasps as I shoulder my way through. Outside, I almost cry out in relief that my car is still at the curb. I jump in, ignoring the valet’s curse as I shove him out of the way.
As I pull out into traffic, I look in my rearview mirror and see Jon come out of the hotel. He stands on the curb looking in both directions.
Back at Tank’s place, I immediately go to the bathroom and strip. I just want a shower. I step into the stall before the water is fully warmed up. Cold water splashes over me and I duck my head, allowing the stream to saturate my hair. After a few minutes the water warms up and I rub my arms briskly, trying to lose the chill.
“Emma? I heard you come in.”
It takes me a minute to find my voice. “I’m here.”
There’s the rustle of fabric and then the curtain moves to the side and Tank steps in behind me. As soon as he touches me, I turn and plaster myself to him. He pulls back slightly and holds my shoulders. Suddenly, his entire body goes rigid.
“What the hell happened to your face?”
A sob escapes my lips and Tank brushes my wet hair back. He tenderly lifts one of my wrists. Black and blue bruises are already showing up.
“Emma? Did Jon do this to you?”
I nod silently then bury my face in his neck. He holds me gently but his voice is fierce.
“He will pay. I am going to hurt him. I promise you that.”
“No. I don’t want you fighting.”
“There’s no stopping this, Em. He hurt you. I can’t stand it, can’t live with knowing he did this to you. Why did you go back there without me?”
My muddled mind finally comprehends that he thinks Jon was at my house.
“You don’t have to talk about this. Come on. You’re shivering.”
He cuts the water off and extends his hand to help me out of the shower. He wraps a thick towel around me and gently blots all the water off. Then he scrubs himself quickly with the same towel and wipes it over his head roughly.
“You need to rest.” He picks me up and carries me to his bed.
I curl around him. I push my face right up against his broad chest, reveling in the scent and warmth that is uniquely Tank. Just a few weeks ago, I barely knew him and now he feels like my lifeline. A soft melody reaches my ears and then words.
He’s singing to me.
His voice is warm and rich. It wraps around me as tightly as the blanket. It’s not until the tears flood my eyes and drench the pillow that I realize I’m crying.
I don’t deserve this beautiful man. Because he has opened his soul to me and I’m lying to him.
It hurts imagining what it'll be like once he knows. He'll hate me. I never knew I could be devastated by something that hasn't even happened yet.
But that's what this feels like. Devastation.
He isn’t even gone yet and I'm already in ruins.
Chapter Eighteen
Tank
As I walk through the corridors of the hospital trying to find the signs leading to the billing office, I mentally calculate how long this trip will take.
Leaving Emma after what happened last night was the last thing I wanted to do, but the first installment payment from my father hit my account this morning. Finn and I can finally clear the latest round of my mom's medical bills. I brought her to Finn’s place since his building has security. It’s not like Jon knows where I live but I couldn’t make myself leave her in my apartment alone.
"She's fine, you know. She's safe at my penthouse. You need a keycard to reach that floor."
"Yeah I know."
What he doesn't get is that I can't take chances with Emma. Just the thought of anything happening to her is unimaginable.
“Here it is. Billing.” Finn points at the sign on the door to our left.
We enter the small waiting room. The young woman behind the desk perks up and directs her smile at Finn.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, we’re here to arrange payment on our mother’s account.” Finn pulls the last hospital bill printout from his pocket and slides it across the desk to her.
>
She glances at me briefly and then turns to her computer. A few key taps later, she frowns.
“The balance on this account has already been paid.”
“What?” I lean over the desk and try to see the screen of her computer. “It hasn’t been that long since we got the last bill. Who paid it?”
“Sir, I really can’t give out patient information. Someone in your family must have gotten their wires crossed. But you'll have to deal with it directly or your Mom has to authorize us to speak with you about her account."
Finn leans over the counter, all smile and charm. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s probably just our father. It’s Maxwell Marshall, right? That’s our dad. Usually we handle all these details but he must have gone ahead and taken care of it for us.”
“Oh good. I’m glad.” She visibly relaxes. I can practically see her melting in front of us.
Finn tends to have that effect on women.
"Thank you for your help–” His eyes drop to the tag pinned above her left breast. “–Miss Weston. We really appreciate it."
As we walk away, I ask, “How did you know it was him?”
Finn glances behind him. The nurse is still watching us. He waves and she smiles back at him.
“Who else would it be? Not that many people know she’s sick and even fewer have that kind of cash. He’s probably just feeling guilty. Whatever. I don’t care why he did it. I’m just glad he did.”
“Yeah. Me too. I’m just surprised.”
“All right. I’m out of here. I have an appointment in a half hour.” He seems nervous and something about that dings my internal radar.
“What’s up with you today? You seem anxious about something. What’s this meeting for?”
“It’s nothing. Just meeting up with an old friend. I’ll see you later, Tank.”
* * *
The woman who answers the door of my father’s hotel room is about my age with wild red hair. I’ve never seen her before. I guess I should get used to this. My father is a rich man and he seems to have any number of people working for him.
