by Wilde, Kati
His gaze darkens as it slips over me. I’m no longer in the wedding dress. Just my jeans and tee. Because I’m not really a bride. Not really a wife.
And I can’t remember why I was so happy.
Voice low, he asks, “Find him?”
I shake my head.
“Yeah, probably too easy. We’ll tell Blowback to dig deeper. But first let me clean up and we’ll order room service, since dinner comes with the whole honeymoon deal.”
I don’t really want a romantic wedding dinner, but I nod.
A muscle in his jaw works before he nods, too. “All right, then.”
Ah god. As soon as I hear the shower start, I bury my face in my hands. Not so numb now. But hurting. So much. And I just want it to stop.
Throat aching, I put on my shoes and a baseball cap, pulling the brim down low. I’m not worried about being recognized by Papa or anyone connected to him. But I won’t be stupid, either.
I knock on the bathroom door and call through it, “I’m heading down to the bar!”
“What?” The shower stops. “Maxine, hold up—”
“I’ll be fine!” Physically.
Emotionally…I just don’t know.
I shove the room’s keycard into my pocket and head out. Stone calls my name again but I don’t stop. I just need to make this pain go away. For a little while.
The bartender’s quick to take my order. Stone’s quick, too—sliding into the stool beside mine before my drink even arrives, his hair still wet and his damp shirt clinging to every thick muscle. Concern darkens his expression.
“Hey.” His voice is low and gentle, and I can’t stand it. “What’s going on?”
I don’t even know. Just that there’s a knot in my throat and the whole fucking world is shit.
And I’m about to cry. But I won’t. I won’t.
Still, it’s hard to get a single word out, let alone a string of them. “I just…want to be angry again.”
Because that was so much easier. So much simpler. When it was rage that drove me away from witness protection and after Stone, when all that mattered was nailing Papa to the wall. But I’ve never been good at being mad for a long time.
“Instead of hurting?”
Lips pressed tight, I nod.
“That why you’re down here? Maybe thinking you’ll drink until it doesn’t hurt so much?” When I nod again, he leans in, tenderly brushing the backs of his knuckles down my cheek. “Problem with that, angel, is we’re on a mission now. You and I are a team—and our purpose is bringing down Papa. So we need to stay sharp. And remember how you felt this morning? That was the opposite of sharp, I’m guessing.”
While I was hungover. Fuzzy and sick.
I pull in a shuddering breath. “It was.”
“So we’ll find another way for you to stop hurting so much, all right? Somewhere for you to put all of what’s boiling inside you.” His lips quirk. “Are you sure you can’t find some rage for me? You’ve been there a couple of times.”
“Because you’re safe.” My drink arrives but I don’t reach for it. “You won’t hurt me for getting angry. Or for lashing out. Or for fighting.”
“I couldn’t hurt you for any reason.” His gaze moves over my face. “Is that what you want to do—fight? Because you can lay in on me anytime if you want to blow off steam. Or I’ll teach you a few moves so you’ll always feel safer. Or hit the gym with me, get those endorphins going.”
Oh god. How selfish can I be? I hesitantly ask, “Is that why you were gone so long—because you’re hurting, too?”
“Yeah. Though just in one spot.” His crooked grin appears, a flashing curve that I feel straight through my heart. “But also because I’m the brawn on this team. So I gotta stay strong.”
Just in one spot.
I reach for my drink, but only to have something to hold and look at. Because I can’t meet his eyes now. Not when everything inside me is suddenly shifting around, hope and fear tumbling together.
Stone said that he’d never touch me again. And that felt like such a rejection. But he also thinks the only reason I slept with him was out of guilt and to pay him back. So he said that he was sorry, too.
He never said that he doesn’t want me, though. That was what I heard. But it wasn’t what he said.
If Stone says now that he doesn’t want me, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hurting. And I’m terrified, so terrified that he will. That I’ve misunderstood again.
But he’s such a good man. And a good man who swears that he won’t touch a woman would keep that promise. Even after he married her. Even after he carried her to a honeymoon suite. Even after he looked at her with so much heat in his eyes. That good man might leave as fast as he could, because a man hurting in one spot can’t easily hide his want. Especially a man as well-endowed as Stone.
My heart pounds, so fast. So afraid. Because I might be wrong.
But I was so happy before. And I don’t want to wait anymore for what makes me happy. Because I never know when it might be gone.
Thinking it was gone for a few days felt bad enough.
Clutching the glass tight, I whisper, “And there’s sex.”
Though I don’t glance in his direction, I feel how tense he becomes. “What about it?”
“People use sex to blow off steam.” I still can’t look at him. “Or to feel good when they’re hurting.”
“Yeah, they do.” There’s a wry note in his reply, but no amusement. Instead each word seems taut and careful, as if he’s crossing a tightrope over a bottomless pit.
As if he isn’t sure whether I’m talking about what I need, or about how he used me the same way…or if I’m thinking of someone else.
But there could never be anyone else.
“I suppose they just walk into a bar and hook up with a stranger. But that would be a bad idea for me. Because we’re on this mission. So bringing in a random person might jeopardize the mission…and upset the team dynamics.”
His voice roughens. “It would fucking destroy at least half this team.”
My chest swells up with hope, until every breath is tight and painful. “So maybe—if I wanted to use sex to feel good—we could keep it within the team? Because I already know that you make me feel so good.”
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “We can do that.”
My eyes close with sheer relief. “Can we go back upstairs, then?”
“We can do that, too.”
But when I slide off my stool, he doesn’t move—except to snag his steely arm around my waist and pull me close against his side. Then closer, until I’m straddling his heavy thigh. I finally have the courage to look at him, but he’s not looking back. Instead his eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched, his head slightly bowed. If he were any other man, I’d think that he was praying.
I bite my lip. “Stone?”
“I’m here.” His broad chest rises and falls on a deep breath, his arm tightening around my waist. “But I need a second to recover from what you just did to me.”
A laugh shakes through me. “You’re such a lightweight.”
“And you’ve got one hell of a punch, Maxine.” But he grins, reaching for my drink. “Maybe we’ll have a sip of this now. To the team.”
“To the team.” I pluck out the garnish stick and its skewered maraschino, then take a sip. “And I’ll be giving my husband a cherry on our wedding night, after all.”
Stone chokes on a laugh while he drinks to the team, but his eyes burn into mine when he eats the cherry off the stick I’m holding out for him—then he downs the rest of the glass, gaze locked on my mouth. As if he’s so hungry. So thirsty. My heart trips over itself, my breath trembling, my inner muscles tightening.
Setting the glass down, he tips his head closer, his firm lips only a breath away from the softness of mine. “Let’s go make you feel real good, angel.”
In so many ways…I already do.
34
Stone
If Maxine ever g
ets to a fourth drink and goes all philosophical again, I’ll have an entire slew of different answers for her.
Do I believe in God? Fuck yes, I do.
Do I believe in miracles? Fuck yes, I do.
Do I believe in angels? Fuck yes, I do.
But I can’t believe my angel is letting me touch her again. That she needs me to touch her.
Knowing that ain’t all sweet, though. Because she’s hurting so bad. I’ll give Maxine anything she needs. If the price of taking her pain away came at the cost of never touching her again, I’d pay it. Instead she just wants me to make her feel good. So I can’t fuck this up, can’t do anything that might hurt her more.
I’ve hurt her too much already. So much I don’t deserve to touch her again. What I deserve is to watch her walk away with another man. Someone who’d treat her the way she ought to be treated from the start. Even though it’d kill me.
But that’s not what she wanted. She wanted me.
I can barely fucking believe it. In the elevator, about every emotion a man can feel is twisting around in my chest, dominated by hope and need, all torqued hard and tight with the love I have for this woman.
All the want I feel for her is settling lower. My cock’s a rigid ache when she leads me down the hallway to our suite, her fingers tangled with mine. She hasn’t met my eyes much, but her nipples are stiff little candies beneath her pink tee, her breaths coming quick and shallow between her soft lips.
Chasing after her out of the shower earlier, I didn’t grab a keycard. But she’s ahead of me there, tugging one from her back pocket and glancing over her shoulder when the door unlocks.
Not looking so hurt and lost now. Just hot and eager.
She heads in, all sweet ass and swinging hips. And fuck me, I want to grab on. To lift her up against the door and take what I need, hard and rough and deep.
But this isn’t about what I need. It’s about what Maxine does. So I’ll let her take the lead.
She’s no longer holding my hand, but I follow close when she crosses to the bedroom, pulling off her baseball cap as she goes. Hair tumbling around her shoulders, she grips the hem of her shirt. My next few steps are awkward hops as I reach down for my boots and yank them off one at a time. The second boot hits the carpeted floor just as she stops beside the bed.
Dragging off her top, she emerges with flushed cheeks and rosy nipples that are begging for my mouth, and throws me an enquiring glance from beneath her lashes. A husky note of arousal lowers her voice when she asks, “Hands and knees? Or on my back?”
The emotions spinning in my chest wrench to a painful halt.
Shame clogs my throat. Maxine needs me to stop her from hurting. So she came up here, knowing I’d make her feel good…but not expecting me to give her anything more than I’ve already taken.
She deserves so much more.
“No, angel. This won’t be like it was before, when I used you as a fuckhole.” Voice hoarse, I capture her face in my hands. “This is for you. Whatever you want, however you want it. I’ll give it to you.”
Looking up at me, her eyes shine with anticipation and pleasure—and are shadowed by uncertainty. As if she isn’t sure exactly what I mean. As if she still doesn’t know how much she can ask for. Her teeth pinch her bottom lip as her gaze searches my face, and suddenly I know how to show her it’s all different now.
I gruffly ask, “Can I kiss you, Maxine—kiss you real deep and real good?”
Her breath shudders and her eyes become glistening emerald pools. “Please.”
Please. As if she’s been wanting me to. Needing me to. And I can’t even remember what stupid reason I had for ever denying her. I just know I’m a damn fool for letting all these days go by without kissing her like I should have.
Hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head back, I don’t waste another second claiming her mouth now. And fuck, she’s so sweet and hot. Tasting of whiskey and cherries, her body taut and trembling against mine when she rises onto her toes.
Maxine’s not wasting time, either. A hungry sound comes from the back of her throat, then she shucks her jeans and panties with a rasp of her zipper and a shimmy of her hips that rubs her belly against my denim-covered shaft. All the while, I’m kissing her deep and slow, with my fingers tangled in her hair. Every moment, sheer bliss—and an agonizing exercise in restraint. I groan into her mouth when she unfastens my belt, each tug and pull an excruciating tease before she starts on the fly of my jeans. Primitive need clenches the muscles of my lower abdomen in anticipation of her soft hands gripping my cock and stroking the engorged length.
It’s pure torture when she doesn’t touch me. And pure heaven when she pushes closer, my heated flesh wedged against her bare stomach. Her arms come up to link around my neck, then she nearly blows my self-control to kingdom come when she just climbs onto me, hauling herself up and wrapping her legs around my waist—sliding her scorching wet pussy up the length of my shaft as if searching for the tip.
Wrenching my mouth from hers, I rasp against her lips, “This is what’ll make you feel good, angel? You want to ride my cock?”
“I just want you inside me,” Maxine pants, her thighs scrambling on my hips as she tries to lift herself high enough to take me in.
Inside her. So much need surges through my veins that it feels like a jet engine roaring through my head. Getting inside her, making her feel so damn good is all I want, too. But she shouldn’t have to work so hard for it.
The bed’s right behind me. Claiming her lips again, I fall back easy, sending rose petals flying up when I hit the mattress. Maxine gives a startled cry against my mouth, then huffs out a laugh that dissolves into a breathy moan when the new position puts the head of my erection right where she needs it.
Feels so fucking good. But just because she’s wet doesn’t mean she can take me in. “Sit up here on my face, angel, so I can get your pussy ready.”
“I’m so ready,” she breathes before slanting her lips over mine, kissing me deep. Her hips hitch up and down, working the fat tip through her drenched folds—but now she’s too far up, straddling my stomach but her body’s too short to take my cock in while I’m lying flat and she’s kissing me.
With a soft groan of frustration, she sits up, bracing her hands on my chest and scooting back. I’m still wearing my jeans and shirt, but she’s completely bare, and my eyes eat her up the way my mouth ought to be. The red’s gone from her hair, except for a few crimson petals that are tangled up in the brown tresses. Her pink lips are swollen from our kisses, the tips of her breasts tight and rosy.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Maxine,” I tell her hoarsely.
A blush stains her cheeks, those emerald eyes shining—just like they did in the chapel when she appeared in her wedding dress and I told her the same thing.
In the chapel. In her wedding dress.
She’s not wearing the dress now, but she’s not naked, either. Because she’s wearing my ring. It’s right there on her finger, gleaming gold as she guides my stiffened cock to her center.
Holy fuck, this is my wife. This sweet, gorgeous girl is my wife.
Poised over me, she abruptly pauses, teeth pinching her bottom lip. Uncertainty trembles through her voice. “You’re all right with this?”
Probably asking because I’m lying here looking thunderstruck. If I weren’t already on my back, I’d be flat on the floor. Because she actually fucking married me.
“I’ve never been better, angel.” My voice sounds real thick as I gaze up at my wife. “You use me however you need to make yourself feel good.”
Immediately, it hits me that Maxine said almost exactly the same thing just before I took her virginity—and which was also the last time I thought of her as Cherry. After that, she was just mine.
My girl, my angel. My wife.
My reply must have reminded Maxine of that first time in the cabin, too, because a giggle shakes through her before she lowers her voice to a mock growl. “Then get re
ady, boy, because I’m gonna use your fuckpole real good.”
Christ, she destroys me. “You and your damn mouth,” I tell her, then my laugh shreds into a ragged groan as she begins rolling her hips, working the fat head of my cock past the snug little entrance that I ought to have softened up with my fingers and tongue. Teeth gritted, I fight the need to take the lead, to grab her ass and hold her in place for a thrust that’ll bury me balls-deep within her scalding wetness.
But it wasn’t just Maxine’s smart mouth that I fell in love with. She’s also so sweet and generous. That first time, even with her virgin blood painting my dick, she told me to take what I needed. She held herself wide open, letting me fuck my way to the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever experienced…and I wasn’t even the one coming. Instead Maxine stayed quiet and still while I used her pussy, though it must have been torture. Sweet torture, because I made her come so hard, but keeping still couldn’t have been easy. Yet she did it. Because she was taking care of me.
It’s my turn to take care of her. My turn to lie still while my wife takes what she needs.
Even if it kills me.
It just might. The heat and wet inside her threaten to shred my control when Maxine takes me in slow, so slow, her head falling back on a throaty moan and her hips swiveling as she drives my swollen flesh into her narrow channel. Christing fuck, it’s so sweet. My every muscle goes rigid in my battle against the urge to thrust hard and rough, my hands fisting in the covers.
All that keeps me in check is knowing that this is what she needs. Ecstasy glazes her emerald eyes as she fills the glistening miracle of her cunt with my thick shaft—and then takes every inch. White flashes at the edges of my vision when she bites her lip, then wriggles and squirms and forces her way down until her slick inner walls grip my cock from root to tip.
So fucking hot. So fucking tight. So fucking deep.
I barely halt my tortured groan behind clenched teeth. Maxine kept so quiet. So still. Now all she’s done is sink onto my dick and I’m about to lose it.
But Christ help me, she’s so beautiful, her eyes blind with pleasure, hands braced on my chest. And her pussy feels so incredible when she tests out the seat of my erection with a roll of her hips.
