Fraud

by J. L. Berg

  There was no fear in her beautiful features, no regret.

  Nothing but passion, fire, and possibly even love.

  As her back arched and her body quivered, I stayed steady, inch by inch, feeling like I might die from the snail’s pace.

  Her body was hot, slick, and tight as a vise.

  “So fucking good,” I groaned.

  Kate’s hands reached around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

  It never seemed to be close enough.

  Even now—feeling her wrapped around my cock, knowing I was buried deep inside her, her naked body entwined with me—it was never enough.

  “Kiss me,” she begged.

  My mouth found hers as my hips surged forward.

  I felt her gasp.

  “Good?” I asked.

  “Don’t stop,” she demanded, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

  “Don’t worry; I won’t,” I assured her, pulling back and surging forward again.

  Her legs twisted around my hips, and I lifted her by the ass, thrusting into her body without mercy.

  “Killian,” she cried out.

  Hearing her call out my name broke the last bit of control I had, and soon, I was surging into her like a wild beast. Her cries were so loud, I felt like a fucking rock star.

  “I think I’m going to come again,” she cried out.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  And not a moment too soon either because, as soon as I felt her inner walls start to clamp around me, my body began its own little grand finale.

  “Oh, shit!” I shouted just as her orgasm hit hard.

  Her tight little body squeezed my cock, milking it, until it exploded like a fucking bottle rocket.

  As we were both breathless and exhausted, I scooped her up, pulling us under the covers.

  “I can’t…I mean—I don’t know if I can even remember how to form complete sentences anymore.” She laughed.

  “Normal speech will return eventually,” I joked. “In a few days, I’m sure.”

  “That was…wow.”

  I cradled her cheek, loving the soft pink glow I’d put there from our lovemaking. “For me, too.”

  Her gaze shifted. “I know it might not have been the same for you since…I mean, I know you are experienced, and—”

  My pointer finger pushed against her lips, stopping the nonsense tumbling from her mouth. “This? Tonight? The best night of my life.”

  “The best?” she beamed.

  “Hands down. I mean, it’s a close one with that day in kindergarten when I punched Jimmy Tate in the face for stealing my hacky sack, and everyone nicknamed me Killer, but still, the best.”

  She laughed. “I can’t get over that nickname.”

  I nodded. “My brother still calls me it to this day.”

  “Well, Killer,” she said, her eyebrow rising in mischief, “is that all you’ve got?”

  I watched as she rose, her naked body straddling me.

  It was a fucking fine-ass view.

  “No”—I grinned, reaching up to pull her on top of me— “not even close.”

  I had a feeling, where Katelyn O’Malley was concerned, I’d never get enough.

  Ever.

  The light drifted in the window, causing my eyes to crack open the tiniest bit. Having grown used to the stained wallpaper of my cramped motel room, I had a moment of confusion when I found myself face-to-face with a fluffy white cat.

  “Um, hi,” I said as he began to purr.

  He dropped his head, his blue gaze briefly meeting mine, before he gave me an approving head-butt and curled up next to me, purring happily.

  “Well, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kate said.

  I turned to see her propped up on her side, looking at me with a curious demeanor.

  “What? The cat?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I’m not sure I’ve seen him act like that to anyone. Not even me.”

  “Maybe he wanted another guy to hang out with,” I suggested, placing a hand down along his soft mane.

  He moved, pushing against my hand with enthusiasm.

  “Traitor,” she joked.

  “Well, how about you two argue this one out while I go make us breakfast?”

  Her face blanched. “By make, you probably mean something more elaborate than pouring milk, right?”

  Amused, I answered, “Generally, yes. Is that your way of telling me you don’t cook?”

  She shook her head. “Not much. I mean, unless it involves a microwave.”

  “Seems I have a bit more to teach you,” I said, giving her a knowing glance.

  Her cheeks flamed, as she obviously remembered our heated interludes from the night before.

  All four of them.

  “You know how to cook?” she asked. “I mean, more than eggs and grilled cheese?”

  “Yep. Takeout in New York is expensive, and working on—” I caught myself.

  I didn’t want to lie to her anymore. I’d made mistakes. I’d treated her poorly, but it all had ended the moment I got in that car last night and made my choice.

  The moment I made her my choice.

  “Anyway, it’s expensive,” I said, correcting myself. “My mom, before she died, was a great cook. I’d sit around in the kitchen, doing my homework, and when I’d get stuck on something, she’d have me help her with dinner. She said the mind worked better if the hands were busy, so she’d have me chop tomatoes and dice onions. Eventually, I graduated to making sauces and stews. By the time she was diagnosed with cancer, I was in high school, and my skills ended up serving our family well.”

  Her hand found mine, dragging it away from the cat, who was snuggled up to my chest.

  “I’m sorry. I know how hard that is.”

  I pulled our joined hands to my lips, kissing each one of her knuckles. “I know you do. You probably understand better than anyone. But I see you and how well you’ve coped, Kate. I wish I could have been strong like you. Instead, I just ran. Hell, I still am.”

  She shifted suddenly, rising higher on her elbow to meet my gaze. “You think I’m strong?” she asked. “I haven’t been on a plane since my parents died. I haven’t left Oregon. I barely take a single vacation day because I don’t have any friends, Killian. It might not look like it, but we’ve both been running. Maybe not in the same way or the same direction, but it’s still running.”

  “Maybe we’ll find a way to stop together.”

  She smiled. “Maybe.”

  “But, first…” I grinned, briefly kissing her hand before grabbing her waist.

  She yelped as I flipped her over on the bed, unceremoniously dumping the poor cat on the floor.

  “I think I need a reminder of exactly how good this body feels wrapped around me.”

  She giggled. “But what about breakfast?”

  “Later.”

  By the time I ran out for sustenance, it technically wasn’t breakfast time anymore.

  Most people wouldn’t even consider it lunch.

  But, whatever time it was, I was headed to the grocery store, ready to stock Kate’s refrigerator with everything I’d need to make her a dinner she wouldn’t forget.

  But, to start I needed a good bottle of wine.

  Remembering my Italian mother’s training well, I headed to the nearest wine store, knowing I could get far better help there than the corner grocery store.

  Luckily, the closest place wasn’t too far from Kate’s, and with a little help from the GPS on my phone, I was there in no time.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered the second I walked in.

  The place was huge, like the fucking Costco of wine.

  Having grown up in downtown New York City, the never-ending space Oregon seemed to have was sometimes overwhelming.

  I knew everything was supposedly bigger in Texas, but I was sure Oregon wasn’t that far off.

  After roaming around the warehouse, looking for someone to help me as I paused between the endless aisles of reds and
whites, I caught a glimpse of a familiar blond head of hair.

  “What the hell?” I said under my breath, ducking behind a display.

  There, in the pinot grigio section, was Brian, the asshole who’d left Kate in tears yesterday, making out with another woman.

  I took a closer look, trying to figure out exactly what my eyes were seeing.

  Around the same height as Kate, the leggy redhead was pretty, no doubt, but nothing compared to Kate.

  She wore a simple pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

  And that was when I saw it.

  Wedding rings.

  Matching wedding rings.

  His thick gold band gleamed under the megawatt bulbs above as he laughed with his wife over wine labels.

  Fucking asshole.

  I was moving before I even had a chance to register it.

  “What the—” Brian said mere seconds before I shoved him up against the cold cinder-block wall. The redhead gasped in surprise.

  “I think I should be asking the same question. Or maybe I should ask your wife,” I said, making his eyes go wide. “Does she know?” I asked.

  He remained quiet. I pushed my hand against his throat.

  A curt nod was all I got.

  My confusion rose. Turning toward his wife, I asked, “You knew your husband was dating another woman?”

  She bit her lip, remaining silent, as their gazes locked.

  “Shit,” I said out loud, letting him go.

  He nearly fell to the floor, breathing heavily.

  “This was a scam,” I said, looking from Brian to his wife and back again. “You know, don’t you?”

  I could see it in his eyes, smell it like a fucking bad odor rising from the sewer. I’d hated this guy from the moment I met him, but now, I knew why.

  “Of course I do,” he said. “I taught her everything she knows. The moment I read that book, I instantly recognized her voice. You can’t hide talent like that, no matter how hard you try.”

  “So, you tried to seduce her to, what? Steal her money?”

  His gaze shifted. “I just wanted my fair share.”

  “Your fair share?” I laughed. “Fair share of what? Did you write the fucking book?”

  “If I hadn’t taught her, she would still be nothing. Nothing!” His voice rose, causing me to step forward. He retreated almost immediately.

  “She’s never been nothing. Never,” I argued.

  “You’re in love with her.” He chuckled. “Does she know you’ve discovered her little secret?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Maybe she deserves to,” he sneered.

  I slammed him back against the wall. A couple was passing by, and their eyes widened with fright as they hurried along.

  Better wrap this up.

  “Try it,” I said, “and you’ll be on every front page in the country when I expose you for the slimy bastard you really are. Do you think she’d stay with you after that?” I asked, motioning to his wife, who looked like she might drop him at any second and bolt for the door.

  “Fine,” he relented, raising his hands in the air.

  “Good. And, if I see you anywhere near her again—”

  “You won’t.”

  I let him go. This time, he managed to stay upright.

  Turning to his wife, I shook my head. “You can do so much better.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at her lips a second before she rushed forward to fawn over her wounded husband.

  That was one fucked up marriage.

  Heading toward the register, I grabbed the first bottle of red I could find and started looking up restaurants that offered takeout.

  I’d had just about all the fun I could handle for one day.

  “ARE YOU SORE?” KILLIAN ASKED as we sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table, plates in hand.

  I bit my lip, avoiding his question, as we pulled out food from bags and spread it out in front of us. I’d been a little surprised when he arrived back here with take-out Italian food rather than an armful of groceries like he’d promised, but after a delirious apology kiss, he’d explained he couldn’t wait to get back here.

  To me.

  “I did manage to grab a bottle of wine to go with our meal,” he explained, holding up a brown paper bag before setting it between us.

  “Where did you go?” I asked, squinting to try and read the store label.

  “Some wine store down the street,” he said.

  “Oh! I’ve been there. It’s huge, isn’t it? I think I wandered around for a solid twenty minutes before anyone helped me. Did you have any luck finding anyone useful?”

  His face darkened slightly. “No, none.”

  I brushed it off, knowing how frustrating that megastore could be. “Well, I won’t blame you if the wine is bad then.”

  He smiled, and a rich warmth painted his features as he looked at me. “You never answered my question.”

  I felt heat spread across my face. “Yes, I’m sore.”

  He stopped what he was doing, placing his fork down and turning to me. “Where?” he asked.

  I couldn’t tell if he was asking out of concern or if this was another game of his.

  So, I tried to explain the best way I could.

  With words.

  “Before my…well, before everything happened in college, during my freshman and sophomore years, I was a normal student. I went to parties, drank, and did many other stupid things.”

  He smiled, a crooked kind of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, if I was a typical college student, Jane was…” I tried to think of an appropriate adjective. “Atypical? No, that’s not right. Okay, let’s try this. If college were a sport, I would have been in the amateur league. But Jane? Jane was definitely a professional. By the second semester of our first year, she’d pretty much done everything there was to do.”

  “Having met her,” he said, “it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Honestly, I think she was just repeating a lot of it from her boarding school days. But, as much as she was a professional partier, she was also always the one who seemed to have her shit together, you know? She’d decide when and if she wanted to get drunk while the rest of us went crazy as frequently as possible. I thought she was so cool because of that. I still do.”

  “Is this an elaborate stall tactic?” he asked, that cocky grin returning.

  “No.” I laughed. “I have a point, I swear.”

  “Just checking.”

  “Anyway, as you can probably guess, Jane had her fair share of—”

  “Lovers?” he guessed.

  “Yes.” I snorted. “She was actually kind of picky. She wouldn’t let just any drunk frat boy in her bed. In fact, I’m fairly certain she had a short affair with a professor during our junior year, but our relationship was a little touchy then.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I’d kept pushing her away. She wouldn’t have it,” I clarified. “But I remember, before all of that, when she’d come back to our dorm, how she’d stretch out in bed and go on and on about how wonderfully sore she was. Being the naive girl I was, I couldn’t fathom how you could equate pain with pleasure, and being a good friend, she’d always try to explain. But it never really made any sense. Until now,” I said.

  His pupils deepened to a dark shade of blue as his breath hitched.

  “I hurt everywhere,” I said. “Every muscle. It feels like my body ran a marathon. I’m tired and exhausted from the lack of sleep. I hurt in places I didn’t even know could hurt. But, despite all of that, I can’t stop grinning. Every time I close my eyes, I remember. Every time I look at you, I feel that flutter in my stomach, and those sore muscles and the exhaustion, it’s forgotten. Because all I want to do is feel your body on mine again.”

  “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore. Are you?” he asked.

  I shook my head, feeling that familiar spark that always seemed to ignite when he was around.r />
  I’d felt it from the first moment I met him, seeing him standing next to me in the crowd. I hadn’t expected anything.

  I never did.

  Maybe that was why I was supposed to write those books. Maybe this was why Laura Stone had been created.

  To show me how to finally live.

  I expected it to be an explosion, like before, one of us reaching for the other in a lust-induced haze. But it wasn’t.

  I watched as Killian’s eyes roamed every inch of my skin, as if he were memorizing it. He took his time, making the anticipation burn deep in my belly.

  “I think my hands shook for a moment last night,” he said, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Not even when it was my first time.”

  “Were you nervous?” I asked, leaning into the warmth of his touch.

  “No. I knew how to take care of you.” He smiled. “But it required some restraint on my side. At least, at first.”

  “Restraint?”

  “Seeing you sprawled out, naked, beneath me had me nearly coming in my jeans.”

  My lips pressed together as I tried to push away the embarrassment that was threatening its way up my face.

  “Is that why you asked if I was sore?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  He grinned, leaning in close. I could feel his hot breath and stormy eyes as they stared into me.

  “I think, if walking is a primary part of your job, you might want to call in sick tomorrow.”

  The scared-of-everything old me would have gulped.

  The exciting new me was picturing a lasso twirling above my head as he tossed me over his shoulder.

  Yee-haw!

  I did a bad thing today.

  Okay, I did several bad things today.

  But the rest of them were actually good.

  Like, so good.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into calling in sick!” I groaned over the coffee pot.

  The sun was well into the sky, pushing the acceptable time for morning coffee.

  But I was tired.

  Blissfully tired.

  “Everyone needs a day off every once in a while.” He shrugged, flipping a pancake over in a pan.

  He’d made good on his promise, running out to the store this morning and returning with more food than I could eat in a month.