by Tiffany Snow
I shook my head, too embarrassed to admit I didn’t even have his number.
“I’m not usually a big fan of chasing a guy if he’s not that into me,” she said, “but in this case, maybe you should go see him. At least get him to give you some kind of explanation or a decent goodbye-have-a-nice-life.”
“I don’t want to look desperate,” I hedged.
“He owes you that much,” she insisted. “Besides, you only live once, right?”
She had a point there. Several, actually.
“I’ll think about it,” I said as we headed back toward our booths.
“Let me know how it goes,” Marcia said.
And I thought about it. All day. I couldn’t not think about it, just like I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I wondered if the woman who’d come to see me had told Devon about that visit. Maybe she’d told him to not be involved with me anymore, not mix business with pleasure, etc., etc. In which case it was very likely he’d obey her, considering how dedicated he was to his job.
I was caught in a wave of indecision. Was Marcia right? Should I go by his apartment? I’d been there, I remembered where it was. Or should I just leave things alone? I really didn’t want to look like the needy female, no matter how much I felt like one.
It was the week before Christmas, and true to Midwest form, when I left work more snow was falling to replace the last batch that had melted. Logan was spending the weekend with a buddy in Colorado. His friend had a place in Breckenridge and Logan loved to ski. They’d left early that morning.
I wasn’t that upset he was gone. I thought maybe Logan and I needed a break from each other. Things had been pretty tense recently; his disapproval over decisions I’d made about my life—about Devon—had driven a wedge between us. Some time apart would probably do us good.
Eating didn’t appeal to me, but I forced down some canned soup. Since the hospital, I’d lost my appetite. I figured it was the broken-heart cliché.
I lasted until almost midnight.
“Screw it,” I muttered to myself, climbing off the couch where I’d planted my rear end all evening to zone out in front of the television.
The gnawing ache inside me wouldn’t go away. Maybe if I just saw him again, heard him tell me it was over, I could move on.
It’s funny how things that have no rationale in the cold light of day suddenly make perfect sense in the middle of the night.
Changing out of my sweats, I pulled on a pair of dark leggings with an oversized, crocheted sweater. I wore an ivory tank underneath because, although the sweater was really pretty, the large knit made it see-through. The snow made boots necessary, and I didn’t bother with my hair, leaving it to fall straight down my back.
Logan had retrieved my car for me and I was glad of it as I scraped the snow off. I tried to stay calm on the ride to Devon’s apartment, but I was too keyed up at the prospect of seeing him again. Would he be glad to see me, and would I even be able to tell if he was? Or was I making a colossal mistake?
By the time I pulled up to the building, I had convinced myself I was insane and needed to turn around and go right back home. Instead, I found myself parking and locking the door before stepping out onto the pavement.
Flakes of snow hit my cheeks and I pulled my coat tighter around me, wishing I’d stopped long enough to think to wear gloves and a scarf. Too late now.
Entering the building, I took the elevator to the top floor. It was an expensive residence and there were only two apartments per floor. When I stood in front of Devon’s door, I took a deep breath, then knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again, harder. Still nothing. I tried again.
The door behind me suddenly opened. I turned, spotting a man standing in the apartment across the way. He was probably in his mid-thirties. It seemed Devon had a neighbor. His eyes flicked over me and he smiled.
“Hi there,” he said. “I heard you knocking. Guess you didn’t know he’s gone?”
I stared in surprise. “Um, no, uh-I guess not,” I stammered.
“Yeah, he left earlier,” the guy continued, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “Said he was leaving the country. Didn’t say how long he’d be gone.”
Leaving the country.
Well, he was British. It had probably been a fluke that Devon had been here in the first place.
I forced a smile. “Thanks for telling me,” I said.
“You want to come in?” he asked. “Have a drink before you go? I’m Beau, by the way.”
His smile was friendly, but all I could think about was that Devon was gone—forever out of my reach—even for a goodbye.
That had a lot of implications that I didn’t want to think about right now.
“Um, sorry, but I’d better go. Thanks anyway.” I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator and took the stairs instead.
I was crying again by the time I hit the sidewalk and angrily brushed at my wet cheeks as I walked. Well, I guessed that was that. You couldn’t get much more permanent than leaving the damn country.
I wondered if the guys who’d taken us captive had gotten anything out of Devon, if my screams had made him reveal things he shouldn’t have. Maybe that’s why his boss had shown up.
Thinking of what had happened made me remember something, or really, someone.
Clive.
Had he betrayed Devon yet again? Was that how they had known to lie in wait at Mr. Galler’s mansion?
The thought was infuriating, a cold rage filling me that I hadn’t felt since the last time I’d seen my stepbrother.
I knew what I’d do. I’d find Clive and make him pay. Somehow. I’d make him hurt for what he’d done and regret throwing away the second chance Devon had given him.
But even with that resolve made, I was still dejected on the drive back to my place.
My place.
It wasn’t really, though, and I thought maybe it was time I rectified that and got my own apartment. I couldn’t afford something as nice as Logan’s, but at least it’d be my own.
I parked my car in the same spot in the lot it’d been in before. The snow was falling in a thick sheet now, and usually that would put me in a good mood, thinking of a white Christmas and all that. But tonight it only increased my sense of loneliness and isolation as I trudged my way to the back door of the apartment building.
I was concentrating on finding the right key for the door when I felt more than heard someone behind me.
Whipping around in fright, I saw a man in a long black coat, the collar turned up to ward off the cold. The snow was too thick to see him properly and my first thought was of Jace. Had he somehow found me?
Groping in my purse for my gun, I jerked it out and pointed it at him. “Stay back! I have a gun and I will shoot you!”
He took a step toward me, just enough so the light shining through the glass door at my back fell on him.
Devon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Oh God,” I whispered, stunned at seeing him. “You’re here. I-I thought you’d gone . . .”
Devon didn’t say anything; he just stepped closer, right up to me. I tipped my head back to look him in the eye and barely noticed as he took the gun from my hand and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.
The corners of his mouth tipped up. “Did you think I’d go without saying goodbye?”
His hands came up to cradle my face and time slowed as he bent down and pressed his lips to mine.
The heat of his mouth was a stark contrast to my chilled skin. I opened my lips and his tongue slipped inside to stroke mine. A whimper escaped and I twined my arms around his neck, to clutch at him, not caring where we were or that he hadn’t contacted me all week. I just wanted him. It seemed he felt the same way because his kisses grew deeper and more urgent, his body pressing mine against the glass.<
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Skating his mouth along my cheek, he whispered in my ear, “Give me your keys,” and I was ever so happy to obey. There was no way I could do something as complicated as unlock the door to get us inside. At the moment all I could think about was how much I needed to feel his skin against mine.
Somehow he got us into the building. I didn’t pay too much attention, clinging to him like a vine. Even when he tore his lips away to focus on unlocking the door, I just fastened my mouth to the skin of his neck and sucked.
Devon got us into the stairwell, my legs hooked around his waist and his hands underneath my butt supporting my weight. He climbed a flight of stairs while I traced the shell of his ear with my tongue.
“I want you,” I whispered in his ear.
The words had barely left my mouth before Devon had my back pressed against the wall of the landing and was kissing me again. I didn’t care that we were in a stairwell. I needed him, needed him to make me feel whole again.
I squirmed out of his hold and he let my legs drop back to the floor. Once I was standing, I reached for his belt and started tugging.
“Ivy, wait—”
“No,” I interrupted. “Now.”
Thank God he had on slacks and not jeans; the button was much easier to undo. I hurriedly toed off my boots and Devon’s hands were at my hips, pushing down the leggings I wore. It was the matter of a moment to fling them and my underwear aside, then he lifted me again. My ribs gave a sharp protest at the movement, but I pressed my lips together and didn’t make a sound.
He pushed inside me in one strong thrust and I gasped at the sensation, a mixture of pleasure and pain. His mouth came down hard on mine, our breath mingling as our tongues dueled and slid hotly together.
The pain became inextricably linked with the erotic pulse of desire and need in my body. Each thrust of his hips sent a stab through me, but I welcomed it. The slick friction of his cock increased the urgency pulsing in my blood.
I tore my mouth from his. “Harder,” I begged, needing more.
Devon groaned, burying his face in my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin. He did as I asked, moving harder and faster. The pleasure and pain notched upward until all I could feel was what he was doing to me. Pain was good, burning through my soul. I deserved to feel the pain with the pleasure—they were two sides of the same coin.
I bit the inside of my lip to keep quiet. I had to keep quiet.
Devon’s fingers bit into my flesh as he ground hard against me, the pressure making exquisite sensation explode through me, centering between my legs and radiating outward all the way to my neck and toes. It was hard to breathe, my ribs stabbing me like a knife with every expansion of my lungs. The pulsing orgasm of Devon’s cock deep inside me was my reward for enduring. My ecstasy was edged with beautiful pain, until I couldn’t tell which was which.
“Why are you crying?”
My eyes flew open at Devon’s shocked question, momentary panic seizing me. Was he angry? Had I done something wrong?
He was gazing at me, bewildered dismay etched on his face, and I choked in a gasp of air. I’d been holding my breath so I wouldn’t make a sound, but tears were streaming down my face. Without the pleasure to take the edge off, the pressure of his body pressed against mine, and my body pressed into the concrete wall at my back, made the pain in my ribs unbearable. A whimper I couldn’t keep inside escaped and I tasted blood from where I’d bitten clean through the skin of my lip.
Then everything went dark.
When I came to, I was lying flat on my back on my bed. I went to sit up, gasping at the ache the slight movement produced. I decided lying down was fine for now and relaxed back into my pillow. I was naked under the blanket tucked up underneath my arms.
“You’re awake,” Devon said, walking into the room. He was carrying a glass of water and had discarded his coat, jacket, and tie. “Excellent. Time for your pain medication.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t like how they make me feel.”
Devon sat next to me, setting the glass on the bedside table next to a pill bottle. “I found your discharge papers in the kitchen,” he said. “Cracked ribs. I know how much those hurt. Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you?”
My face grew hot and I glanced away, unable to look him in the eye. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Bad enough to make you pass out,” he retorted. “I saw the bruises, Ivy. Don’t try to hide from me.”
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “You know I liked it.” My face grew even warmer. “You felt it.”
“Yes, darling,” he said with a sigh, his voice gentling. Reaching for me, he brushed his fingers through my hair, caressing my cheek in a soft touch. “I felt you come, but that doesn’t tell me why you would let me hurt you. I don’t want that.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t explain it to myself, much less put into words the impossible emotions and twisted thoughts going through my head in those moments in the stairwell. I didn’t want to think about or examine them, afraid of what it would say about me.
Logan was right, I thought. Devon’s hold on me was utter and absolute. I’d do anything for him, even if it meant my own pain and destruction.
Devon drew the covers down, exposing my body to his gaze. I didn’t try to stop him. He owned me now, body and soul, whether he knew it or not—whether he wanted to or not. Despite my embarrassment and mortification at the bruises marring my skin, it didn’t occur to me to try to stop him. I was his, to do with as he pleased. Maybe it was love I felt, maybe obsession, perhaps gratitude, or fear that I’d lose him. Whatever it was, it was more powerful than my instinct for self-preservation and I didn’t question the why or how—I just accepted it.
Devon’s gaze traveled slowly from my face down my black-and-blue torso to my legs, then back up. Reaching out, he gently turned me over onto my stomach. I knew my back looked just as bad, perhaps more so because of the knife imprint branded on my skin.
His fingers lightly brushed the mark and I stiffened, even that gentle touch causing a pang of discomfort from the still-healing wound.
“They marked you,” he murmured. “I hadn’t realized . . .”
But I didn’t mind the permanent scar. It was a battle wound I’d earned protecting Devon, and it reminded me that I had value and worth.
Devon leaned over me, his lips settling just above the brand and pressing a gentle kiss there. His tongue swiped the abused skin and the slight twinge made me sigh, my eyes slipping shut.
He kissed me everywhere, his mouth drifting up to my shoulder, then sliding down to my waist. It felt as though he was kissing my bruises and he was exceedingly gentle. His hands brushed my hair aside, then skated lightly down to my rear. His tongue traced patterns in my skin, dipping into the cleft between my cheeks.
By the time he reached the backs of my thighs, my breath was coming in pants and my hands were fisted in the bedsheets. I wanted to see him, touch him, and tried to turn over, but he stopped me.
“Lie still,” he commanded roughly, his warm breath sliding over my sensitized skin.
I obeyed, not moving as he licked and sucked his way to the backs of my knees. My core was pulsing, dripping with need, and I desperately wanted to slide my hand between my legs to ease the ache. But Devon had told me to lie still.
He kissed the inside of my knees as his hands moved to my hips. Carefully, as though I were made of spun glass, he turned me onto my back.
Braced over me, his arms and legs caging me, our gazes met. His eyes burned a cold, icy blue as he stared at me. I couldn’t look away from him and couldn’t reach for him as I wanted to. I was naked to my soul and I wondered if he could read in my eyes how much I felt for him.
Dipping his head, Devon brushed his lips across my collarbone and my eyes slid shut. He treated my chest the same way he’d treated my back, kissing and licking every mark and bruise. His to
ngue traced my ribs and delved into my navel. I bit my lip again, the pain on the same spot making tears burn behind my eyelids.
“Don’t,” Devon whispered against my lips. His kissed my lower lip. “I want to hear you, sweet Ivy.”
His words were permission and I gasped when his tongue brushed a nipple, then his mouth closed over the tip and he sucked. I moaned in response, my back arching helplessly toward him. He moved to my other breast, giving it the same treatment, and I couldn’t control the loud hiss of my breath.
I whimpered at the loss of his mouth on me, my eyes fluttering open to watch him. He unbuttoned and discarded his shirt, and I saw bruises marked his torso as well. Grasping my wrist, he tugged.
“Come this way,” he urged, pulling me toward him as he lay back on the bed. Not understanding what he wanted me to do, I rose to my knees and hesitated.
“Straddle me, sweetheart,” he said, tugging again.
I looked in confusion at the pants he still wore, though by the way his slacks tented, he was enjoying this as much as I was.
Devon laughed lightly. “Not there. Here.”
He grasped my waist and pulled me over him until one knee was braced on either side of his head. I was shocked at the position and what he wanted me to do. It was too aggressive. Too demanding. Not me at all.
“I-I can’t do this,” I stammered, my face burning. I tried to squirm away, but Devon’s hands settled on my hips, holding me in place.
“Don’t tease me,” he said, his voice a playful rasp. “You’d give me a glimpse of the paradise between your legs and not let me taste you?” His mouth fastened to my inner thigh and I gasped at the sensation.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his lips moving against my skin. “Your pussy is red and plump, begging for me to lick you.”
Oh, God, had he just said that? Before I could process my utter embarrassment at his vivid description, he was pressing on my hips, urging me down until his mouth was on me.
His tongue was a slick heat against my body, the position he’d put me in spreading me wide open. His hands held me in place while he devoured me. There was no other word for it. Yes, he’d done this at the hotel, but now it seemed different somehow. As though, like the way he’d kissed all my bruises, he wanted to show me the opposite of the pain I’d endured.
