Underground (New World Series Book 4)

by Janelle Stalder

  “You move fast for a big guy,” she said as he lifted her so their hips aligned.

  “I think I've been taking it rather slowly, actually. I'm tired of slow.”

  His face drew closer as her breathing increased to the point where she was almost panting.

  “Me too,” she agreed in a whisper.

  “Good.”

  His mouth crashed into hers, hard and dominating like everything he did. All she could do was hold onto him tightly, as she melted against him. Nothing was ever gentle with Trent, and she loved it. He carried her over to the desk that sat against one wall of the room, placing her on it as he kept her legs wrapped around him.

  “We're just having fun, right?” he said when he pulled away from her. They were both breathing as if they'd run a mile.

  “Not yet we're not, hot shot,” she replied, pulling his shirt up and off. His hand whipped out to grip her wrist, stopping her. She looked up at him, confused.

  “Trent,” he said. “You call me Trent when I'm fucking you.”

  She cocked a brow. “Sure thing. But you're not fucking me yet, hot shot.”

  “Phoenix,” he warned.

  She smiled. He was so easy. “Come on, Trent , let’s have some fun already.”

  In one quick move, he ripped her panties clean off, making her gasp in surprise.

  “I aim to please,” he said darkly.

  “I hope so,” she replied with a giggle as he lifted her up again and brought them to the bed. He dropped her back on the mattress before inserting himself between her thighs, his head hovering over her belly button. Those broad shoulders of his made it impossible for her move, completely splayed out for him.

  “You look good down there,” she teased. “I can't tell you how often I've imagined just what you'd look like there.”

  He chuckled. “That makes two of us. Let's see if you taste as good as I've imagined.”

  Phoenix sucked in a breath at the first stroke of his tongue over her center. Like his kiss, he went hard and fast at her, torturing her in the best way. She tossed her head back and forth, the sensation almost too much. Slowly he added his fingers, dipping them into her folds, rubbing her with just enough pressure to set her off. She screamed out her release, her entire body shaking from it.

  Phoenix couldn't remember the last time she'd climaxed, but she was sure it was nothing compared to this. She felt boneless as she lay there. Trent crawled up her, a smirk tipping one side of his mouth.

  “There's no gloating in here,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

  He laughed. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

  Her hand fell back beside her, useless. Trent stood up off the bed to push his pants and boxers down. As he straightened, Phoenix got her first good look at him.

  “Good God man,” she said, unable to stop herself. “Never mind, you can gloat. Gloat away.”

  The man was huge. Part of her was actually scared. Ah, who was she kidding? Every girlie part of her was fucking thrilled.

  He laughed, placing a knee on the end of the bed as he leaned forward. “I'll gloat when I'm inside you. Now open your legs wider.”

  And damn if she didn't do what he said without argument.

  Trent was intoxicated by everything about her - her scent, her taste, the feel of her soft flesh beneath him, the sounds that escaped her mouth. Even if he’d wanted to go slow, he wouldn't have been able to, so insane with his need for her was he.

  Phoenix linked her hands around his neck as he positioned himself between her legs. In one hard thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt, her warmth surrounding him. She cried out, throwing her head back. He growled, not moving. She was tighter than he'd expected, and it felt amazing.

  As soon as he felt her muscles relax again, he began to move. She hiked her legs further up his hips, letting him sink in further.

  “You feel amazing,” he said, holding himself above her so he could watch the way she writhed beneath him.

  “So do you,” she said. “Don't stop. Whatever you do, don't. Stop.”

  “I'm not planning on it.” He increased his pace, angling differently to hit the spot he knew would drive her crazy. Hooking a hand around one of her calves, he lifted her leg, resting her ankle on his shoulder, then doing the same to the other. He pumped harder, his hands reaching out to cup her breast through the thin fabric of the top she still wore. Frustrated with not being able to feel her skin to skin, he used both hands to rip the fabric apart, baring her perfect, round breasts to his eyes.

  “Stop ruining my clothes,” she said, not appearing to really care as she smiled up at him.

  “I need to taste more of you,” he said, his mouth watering at the sight of her. Lowering her legs, he lifted her and moved them while keeping their connection so that she straddled him.

  Her nipples were now right in front of his face where he wanted them.

  Phoenix moaned as he sank even deeper in this new position. She started to ride him as he leaned forward to capture one of those tantalizing nipples in his mouth. She gripped his hair, pulling it as she moved. He growled against her, reaching around to grip her ass in both hands.

  Her breathing picked up and then he felt her insides grip him as she climaxed again. Rolling, he pinned her beneath him again and started to move fast and hard as she orgasmed around him, the quivers of her walls going on and on.

  A warm, tingling sensation ran up his spine as his own release neared. Reaching down between them, he circled her clit with his thumb, never slowing down until he felt her climax once more before letting himself fall over the edge. He shouted out his release before collapsing, careful not to crush her.

  She clung to him, her quick breaths the only sound he could hear. When he felt like he could manage to move, he rolled off her, tucking her close to his side.

  Phoenix reached down for the covers, pulling them over them.

  “Now I can sleep,” she said lazily, snuggling in against him.

  He chuckled softly, closing his eyes too. In minutes they were both out, truly and utterly exhausted.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  They entered the house, exhausted both physically and mentally. If Charlotte thought she'd be able to rest, that was instantly shot down when she came face to face with a very disheveled, stressed out Pete.

  “Where the hell have you two been?” he said immediately, heading straight for her. Before she could say anything, he pulled her into a tight embrace, squishing her against his chest.

  “Oh, thank God!” Sam said, coming around the corner. “We were considering tying him to a chair just to keep him here.”

  Bridgette and Roman came down the stairs, both looking as though they'd been asleep.

  “Sorry if we worried you,” Lake said. “We ran into some - complications.”

  Pete gripped her arms, holding her away from him. “What complications? Are you hurt? What happened?”

  “Good grief, Pete,” Charlotte said, exasperated. Shaking off his hold, she stepped back. “Could everyone just give us a moment. It's been a really long night.”

  “You're telling me!” Pete said angrily. “I've been worried sick. What the bloody hell happened?”

  “Food,” Lake said suddenly.

  Everyone looked at her, except Charlotte, who just wiped a hand down her face as she realized the morning was going to be just as long as the night at this rate. So much for sleep, she thought wearily.

  “Food?” Roman asked.

  Lake came up and wrapped an arm around Charlotte. She hated being coddled, but Lake was too sweet of a soul to brush off when she knew the girl was just worried about her.

  “We need food,” she clarified. “and some tea. We'll explain everything while we eat.”

  Pete look less inclined to wait, but wisely kept his mouth shut as they all headed into the kitchen.

  Shoveling a forkful of eggs that tasted like cardboard into her mouth, she listened to Lake tell them about the community center, happy to have something in her sto
mach finally. Pete was nearly frantic when Lake told him about Charlotte almost collapsing from the mental assault. She waved him off, assuring him she was fine now.

  “How did you block out so many?”

  She looked up at Roman. He knew how hard it was for her to do that when she opened up to a large crowd. Looking over at Lake, she knew the time had come to tell them just who had also been with them.

  Setting her fork down, she took a deep breath before answering. “Ludwig showed up.”

  Pete flew from his feet. “What?”

  “Calm down,” she said instantly.

  “I don't know what would have happened if he hadn't,” Lake said quickly. “He was really great with her.”

  They all looked at her, stunned.

  “Am I fucking dreaming right now?” Sam said. Even Vi had her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

  “No, you're not,” Charlotte said tiredly. “He was out walking and saw me. He's...had to deal with me before when that happens and knew how to help.” She shrugged. “It worked.”

  Roman was the only one who didn't seem surprised, although his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully.

  “Then he came with me to check out the building and that's when we were sure that it was the General and his men in there. It also looks like he's brought some of Ludwig's men over to his side,” said Lake.

  “How many are dead?” Bridgette asked softly.

  Lake shook her head. “It's hard to tell. A lot. The survivors are being kept as hostages it would seem.”

  “I can't fucking believe this,” Pete said, pacing. He stopped, pointing a finger at her. “I knew you shouldn't have gone out. You're lucky that bastard didn't take you both.”

  “What did Ludwig do?” Roman asked.

  “He left us to go to headquarters,” Charlotte replied.

  “What's he planning on doing?”

  She shook her head, shrugging. “No idea. He wouldn't tell us much. Just said to get home quickly.”

  “He didn't want to arrest you?” asked Vi, her face set in a confused look.

  “No, he was actually kind of nice to us,” Lake said.

  “I must be dreaming,” Sam muttered.

  “And on that note, I need some sleep,” Charlotte announced, standing up.

  “That's it? You're just going to go to bed when all this is going on?” Pete said.

  His anger was grating on her nerves.

  “I'm exhausted and feel like shit, so yeah, I'm going to bed.”

  “Wait,” Bridgette said. “What did the doctor say? Are you okay?”

  Charlotte looked at her sister and then looked to Pete. “He said the nausea should be better in another two months, or so.”

  Bridgette gasped, her eyes instantly tearing up. Surprisingly Roman smiled, his eyes lowering on her before looking back at her face. She looked to Pete, his brows furrowed in confusion.

  “Two months? Why? Is it some kind of flu?” he asked.

  “You're such an idiot,” Sam said with a shake of her head.

  Charlotte headed to the door, looking back at him. “Two months because that's when most people's morning sickness is gone. He said the second trimester is always easier. Now, good night to you all.”

  She walked out just as she heard him ask, “What does she mean trimester?”

  Charlotte was pregnant.

  Charlotte. Was. Pregnant.

  With his baby.

  Pete sat on the bottom step of the stairs, his mind racing. He needed to go to her, hold her, but his legs wouldn't move. They were going to have a baby. He couldn't believe it. How did this happen? Well, he knew how. He just couldn't believe it.

  He was so conflicted about how he felt. While having a baby with her was amazing - there was no one else in the world he'd want to have a family with - but to bring a baby into this world? Was that fair, considering the state of things?

  “It's a good thing.”

  Pete looked up to see Roman leaning against the wall watching him. It was as though he'd read the conflict going on within his thoughts. Pete looked down, shaking his head.

  “I'm terrified,” he admitted.

  “Everyone is when they're going to be parents.”

  “How am I supposed to raise a child when I'm forced to hide away myself in a bloody ghetto?”

  Roman sighed and walked over to sit down beside him. “Is it ideal? No. But your son or daughter is going to have a lot of people looking out for them. Don't you think Lottey is thinking the same things as you? She's probably just as scared, on top of being sick and exhausted.” He turned to look at him. “You have every right to be scared, but you need to be strong for her. Go up there and hold her. Let her know what a miracle this is and make it something happy. It's what she needs. It's what all three of you need.”

  He was right. Pete should have already been up there with her. He stood. “I can't believe I'm taking advice from you of all people.”

  Roman smiled. “I've always been a great adviser.”

  Pete laughed softly. “I bet.” He looked down, feeling awkward. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

  Roman stood, clasping his shoulder. “Anytime.”

  He walked away and Pete headed upstairs. Charlotte lay curled in their bed when he entered. He just stood there looking at her, realizing how fragile she looked. Her dark hair fanned behind her on the pillow.

  They were going to have a baby? Something warm spread through his chest at the thought of what he or she would look like. A little human mixture of them both.

  Kicking off his shoes, he climbed in behind her, pulling her close. He rested his hand on her stomach, and a love like he'd never known swept over him.

  Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, “I love you.”

  Her hand reached down to cover his over her tummy, giving it a squeeze.

  “I love you too,” she said back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Stella pressed the fabric she'd ripped from the bottom of her dress to the bleeding wound. There was so much blood - everywhere. People were still crying, while others sat in a quiet shock. The chaos that had erupted was worse than anything she had ever seen. Men, women, children - it didn't matter who you were, everyone had been an equal target.

  When they had begun, she had reacted quickly, grabbing Mr. Samson by the sleeve and pulling him toward one of the tables set up with food. Without hesitating, she had tipped it over onto its side, the food spilling everywhere. She had pulled them both behind the makeshift barrier, but not before a bullet had hit Mr. Samson in the leg.

  Now he looked pale, a sheen of sweat dampening his forehead and upper lip. Still, she kept up the pressure, praying he would pull through. So insane had it been, she hadn't even looked for her own family. The shooting had stopped a while ago, but she'd been too afraid to leave Mr. Samson to go look for them. The fear of finding out they hadn't made it also rooted her to the spot. What would she do if she were the only one left?

  Don't think that way, she reprimanded herself. Surely everyone had made it. She just needed to get some medical help for him so she could leave long enough to look through the survivors.

  Most of the people were still hiding, too afraid that if they came out the shooting would begin again. Stella got the feeling that whatever point Douglas Hatcher was trying to prove it had been made. No one was going to stand up against him again. If he wanted their unwavering compliance, surely he'd accomplished that.

  “Go look for you dad, Stella,” Mr. Samson urged, his voice weaker than before. She just shook her head. Water. They needed water. Looking around, she saw that most of the glasses on the drink table had been shattered by the stray bullets. Only a few remained. It wasn't water, but it would have to do.

  She turned back to Mr. Samson as she rose up on her hunches.

  “Keep pressing down on this,” she instructed. “I'm going to get you some fluids.”

  He took over where her hands had been, but said, “stop fussing over me, girl. I'm a
n old man who's lived his time.”

  She shook her head once, vehemently. “Stop talking that way,” she said. “I don't know if my parents are alive, we could be all the other has left.” Unwanted tears burned her eyes. He looked at her with pity and understanding “Just keep pressing on the wound,” she said. He nodded.

  Crawling on her knees, she made her way toward the other table, praying nothing would happen to her. Checking around the end of the table they’d hidden behind, she saw so many bodies littering the floor where they had all been happily socializing not long ago. The armed men stood as still as statues around the perimeter of the room, their guns now lowered.

  Looking toward the front, she saw Douglas standing there, conversing with a group of men. She let her gaze roam over the survivors she could see, but didn't see her parents or Mara.

  Swallowing against the burning at the back of her throat, she refused to believe that they were amongst those lying unmoving in the middle of the floor. Taking a deep breath, she headed out from behind the safety of the table, crawling along the floor toward the drinks. Shards of glass bit at her hands and knees.

  Ignoring the stinging, she crawled faster. With shaking hands, she reached up and took the first thing her fingers touched. Blood from her palm smeared the glass. Crawling back was harder now that she had to keep the cup steady, but she managed.

  Kneeling beside him, she propped Mr. Samson up further against the wall and placed the cup to his dry lips. He swallowed a few mouthfuls before pushing it away.

  “You have some too,” he said.

  “I'm fine,” she replied. “You need it more than I do. Now drink it all.”

  He took the cup from her after she practically pushed it into his hand. Shuffling down to his leg again, she grimaced at how red the fabric looked. The wound was bleeding too much. Tearing off more of her dress, she replaced the cloth before ripping a thinner piece in order to tie it around his thigh.

  She had just finished when she heard Douglas speak over the sound system again.