by Christa Wick
Yes, leave. Leave now before I make a fool out of myself. Leave while I can still pretend it was me you wanted, not just an empty hole.
A wolfish grin carved its way up his cheeks. His hands fisted my hair and he slid a little lower. His face dropped to press against the curve of my neck and he took a deep breath.
"But you do smell good," he teased. His tongue swiped my flesh. He exhaled with a rough, rumbling purr of air. Releasing his grip on my hair, he grabbed the collar of my gown and ripped it open, his gaze challenging me to deny him.
I didn't. I trembled beneath him, my lips quivering but with no words building behind them.
Dylan kissed and licked his way down my body, leaving a trail of little raspy whispers of "so good" as he went. Stopping with his face once again between my thighs, he caught my gaze and smiled fiercely.
One brow arched up and then he looked down to where I had remained wet and twisting.
"And the taste..." Looking up he tilted his head, dipped down for a heartbeat, his tongue flicking once against my clit before his eyes pierced me again. "The taste is perfect."
He descended on me then in full force, his lips and tongue and teeth devouring my flesh. Sucking, nipping, flicking, bringing me to a third climax with just his mouth as his hands roamed up and down my sides, squeezing, kneading, soothing.
Easing back on his haunches, Dylan grabbed the bottom hem of his sweater and pulled it up and off his long, sculpted torso.
Damn, he was too beautiful. My eyes misted looking at him. He was lighter than his brother in skin and hair. Golden brown hair dusted his arm and low along his stomach before the hair turned darker and more plentiful as it disappeared below his belt line.
Strong hands and nimble fingers had his belt unbuckled in an instant. Without a trace of self-consciousness or drama, he unbuttoned and unzipped. Fisting the fabric, he paused to stare at me. Something flashed in his eyes, something that was both hot and tender, but he blinked and only the heat remained.
Dipping a finger into his pocket, he snagged a condom wrapper, placed it next to him on the bed then shimmied out of the rest of his clothes and shoes.
Dylan Kehoe, naked on my bed, resting once again with his lower legs curled under him, his fine, muscled ass resting against the back of his heels as he looked at my plump, pale body and the wet triangle of dark blond silk between my legs.
"I need to taste you again," he said, his voice far away as he lowered his head to my mound.
He started gently. His nose ran the lines of my lower body, tracing where my thighs edged downward, the split of my labia, the border of hair. Slowly he inhaled each section, releasing the air only after he planted a soft kiss and moved to the next line of flesh he wanted to explore.
I squirmed through every second, anticipating the next kiss and the moment when the kiss would become something more -- a tongue, lips parting, teeth sampling the flesh with the same tenderness.
When he came back to the line of my pussy, my hips lifted off the mattress. He captured them, cooing softly as he forced me back down to the bed.
"This can't be rushed," he said, still sampling my skin.
He was right. I needed tonight to last as long as it could because it wouldn't happen again. Certainly I would one day yield to another man, but never again with Dylan and never with the same need splintering its way through my bones.
His lips found my clit again and he started suckling. I couldn't stop the gasp. My fingers crawled down the mattress, along my stomach and wove their way into his hair. I wanted to run my hands over his body, to have him deep in me while I kneaded the muscles of his back, arms and ass. I wanted a turn on top, holding him down while I rode his cock.
"Ooh--" I popped a fourth time, my eyes rolling back in my head as he continued licking the line of my pussy.
I heard the rip of foil, saw his hands moving beneath him, sheathing his cock. He moved up my body with a kiss against my hip, another near my navel, several long seconds sucking and gently squeezing at my breasts before his mouth found the curve of my neck. He sank into me, so very slow, stretching me, the pressure mounting until I shook with a fresh release.
Mercy...
I wanted to cry, to make the sensations abate. My body would have none of that. It craved him, craved the thick cock that threatened to tear my flesh, craved the warm lips and stroke of his wet tongue.
Dylan stilled. He lifted his head, his hands knotting in my hair as he looked in my eyes. "Am I hurting you?"
I couldn't answer. In so many ways, he was hurting me -- killing me. The pain was only a little...until it reached my heart. There, it seemed unbearable.
But I didn't want him to stop.
"We'll rest for a few seconds," he said, one hand leaving my hair to caress my cheek. "You tell me when you're ready for me to go deeper."
"I can't," I whispered. My inability wasn't a lack of temerity, but some sense of self-preservation -- the way a suicide's finger must tremble on the trigger of the gun. I wanted to place all the blame on him at the moment of my undoing.
Dylan's mouth traced the edge of my jaw. His breath fell warm on my face. His body relaxed against mine, the weight sinking him a little deeper into me. My lips quivered and then the rest of me joined in.
"Squeeze me when you're ready," he said, his mouth to my ear.
He had to know that I wasn't in control, that he had severed the connection between my brain and the rest of my body. He had to know that I would squeeze almost immediately upon hearing his words.
And I did.
With a raspy sigh, he drove deeper, burying all of his length inside me. My torso convulsed, every muscle it housed pulling tight until I collapsed against the mattress and started tightening and squeezing all over again.
"Tell me someone else has been in here," he said, his voiced edged with a desperate, pleading quality. "Tell me I'm not the first."
I blinked and my tears overran my eyes, spilled down the sides of my face to splash against his cheek. His mouth covered mine. My brain scrambled to recall if he had kissed me earlier. I couldn't remember, but if he had, this time was different. I felt him sucking everything I thought I was through that hole, his body transforming the substance before he fed it back into me at that lower point where our bodies joined, where he warmed and stretched me with his cock.
Me into me, through him, his lean hips rocking against my padded ones, the hard pushing rhythm against my clit stealing my breath, blanking my mind until I cried out and came again. This time, he came with me. I felt him tremble, heard him groan. My flesh yielded to his sharp bite against my shoulder and then we ceased moving.
I wanted the feeling to roll into forever, but it was doomed to be anything longer than a moment. His body stiffened and he pushed onto his elbows.
"Fuck..." Clearing the hair from my face, he forced me to look at him. "What can I tell you? Because there's so much I want to say."
Self-preservation roared back to life within me. My gaze shifted from his gray eyes to the fuzzy edge of my vision where the top of the mattress and the wall beyond blurred together. Hearing him inhale sharply, I shook my head and answered.
"Nothing."
********************
Sometime in the middle of the night, I escaped my boss's sleeping embrace. He didn't say another word to me, but he didn't leave. He climbed out of the bed, returning with a warm wash cloth. I resisted his cleaning me, but he persevered by dodging my hands and ignoring my tears.
So soft his touch, the cloth warm and damp as it moved between my labia. My body shook with the tears he wouldn't look at. When he finished, he returned the wash cloth to the bathroom then got in bed beside me. He pulled the covers over us. I had my back to him. All those years of him looking away, it was my turn and the soft kisses he planted against my neck couldn't convince me otherwise.
"We absolutely will talk in the morning," he had warned, his voice still tender but stern. Then he had draped his arm across me, our bodies snugg
ly spooned together.
I fell asleep first -- and woke first. Sneaking from the bed, I went into the bathroom, snagging my purse and the folder of my accomplishments as I went. As was my habit, I had laid out the next day's clothes shortly after my arrival to the room. I slipped into them then fished my company phone from the purse and placed it on the vanity.
Not daring to turn on the light or gather even my cosmetics from the counter because the sound might wake Dylan, I left everything else behind but my purse, the folder and the clothes on my back. Stopping in the hallway outside the hotel room, I pulled out Riona's note.
The urge to read it one last time scratched inside me. Bending swiftly, I pushed it under the door. To put Dylan in my past, I needed all the Kehoe siblings out of my life. I couldn't do that while Riona's sweet words remained in my possession.
A clean break or no break at all.
Dylan
I woke to an empty bed. My hand inched along the mattress in search of the lingering warmth that would assure me Marjolein had merely popped into the bathroom.
Finding the sheets cold, I sat up and looked around the room. Luggage, boxes, computer bag. Starting to relax again, I slid my feet onto the floor and stood up. Air chilled by the cooling system washed over my naked flesh and turned my nipples as hard as the erection that had followed me from sleep.
A light hunger twisted at my gut, its strength nothing compared to the other hunger that had roused me from bed.
Her...my sweet Marjolein.
I scanned the top of the dresser and nightstand for some note telling me when she would be back. Finding nothing, I stepped into the bathroom, certain that she would not be gone for long without a message of some sort.
Forcing my cock to relax just a little, I emptied my bladder. The process was slow and painful. I had better things to do with the organ, pleasurable things. They all involved Joey and her lush body.
Frowning, I flushed the toilet and reminded myself that I would be in the dog house if I called her "Joey" anytime soon. I didn't want to be in the dog house. I wanted to be in bed, with her, in her. Without the tears this time.
I needed to find some other name. One came to mind immediately, had been lingering in my thoughts for over a year, but she wouldn't accept it -- not yet.
Love...
She wouldn't believe me if I said it, not with the way I had fought the feeling so hard for so long.
"Idiot..." Staring at my reflection, I rubbed hand roughly over my unshaven cheek. I had to find a way to communicate that I didn't view last night as a one-off -- wouldn't allow it to be that way. Oh, I had evidence aplenty -- I could trot out the last three months of women I had booked and paid but sent away before they could even lower my zipper.
I could haul Giorgio, the jeweler, in front of her and have him regurgitate my reaction when he asked with whom I had fallen in love as he handed me the white satin box with the brooch I had commissioned. Still in denial, I had almost taken his head off.
Splashing water on my face, I searched for better proof.
Nothing came to mind. I had acted like a complete ass for far too long and all the evidence to the contrary would only make things worse.
Finished drying my face, I tossed the hand towel onto the counter and noticed the phone for the first time. Her phone.
My heart started to beat a little harder, a little faster.
Intent on grabbing my clothes and going in search of Marjolein, I stepped into the room's short hallway. Something smooth under my heel caught my attention. Looking down, I snatched up a small notecard, knowing by the custom design with its raised R encircled in a flourish that the writing inside would belong to my baby sister.
The blue reminded me of your eyes, the green of your innocence, the red of your passion in protecting your friends and the gold of your heart. Thank you for putting up with me and my brothers (especially Dylan).
Love, Riona
Moving toward the gift boxes after I read the first section and remembered the winter blue corset of the night before, I ripped the lids off to find a sheer green baby doll, a red leather one piece and a stunning gold lace peignoir.
Having seen Riona's design sketch of the full length nightgown and outer shell, I had already imagined Marjolein in them a dozen times between that day and this one.
Last night, I had ruthlessly said she couldn't keep any of them.
Numb, I walked around the room, taking stock of everything she had left behind. It wasn't just the lingerie, her laptop case and her company phone. All of her personal items were there -- as if she would return at any moment even though I knew deep in my bones that she was gone.
Still naked, I fished my phone from my jeans and called Jake. While it rang, I grabbed Marjolein's phone and texted the head of my IT department.
"You took long enough," I said when Jake finally answered.
Reel it in...he's not the reason she left. You are.
"Sorry," I added before he could react. "Did Joey contact you since last night?"
"Nope," he answered, his tone light enough I knew he was still completely unaware of what had transpired. "How many bouquets of gladioli do you owe her now?"
A church full, I thought, hoping it would be more like a wedding and not my funeral that marked the occasion.
"She's gone." The words slithered out in a whisper to finally hook his attention. "Can you come to her room."
He didn't answer, just hung up. Dialing the private security we'd brought with us, I put Mishka on speakerphone and started dressing before Jake arrived.
"Miss Dekker has quit the company unexpectedly," I informed the Russian. "I need you to find her -- immediately. I don't have any information beyond that yet, I will send more as soon as I have it."
Hearing his one-word response, I hung up and looked at the text app to find that my guy in IT had replied with Joey's password and ID. Pulling out her computer, I started to thumb through the messages on her phone while the laptop booted.
Jake came through the door just about the time my balls shriveled to the size of a pea.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost," he said, his voice dipping low. "Tell me she's not hurt."
"Not yet," I said, handing him the phone so he could read the message that had frozen my spine. I watched silently while Jake turned as pale as I felt. Sensing he was finished, I took the phone from him.
"I'm going to Boston," I started. "She may not be there--"
"I'll go," he interrupted.
"No, you won't. I don't give a fuck about whether she comes back to work for the company. This isn't about the business." I said, stepping into my shoes and reaching for my phone as a list of actions played at the back of my mind. I needed the jet ready for departure. I needed my laptop, I needed Mishka...
Jake wrapped one hand around the collar of my sweater and the other around my throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded like gravel mixed in with meltingly hot asphalt.
"You of all people know that our first priority is getting her away from Maxwell King."
I wanted to break something, knew it couldn't be his arm. I forced myself to calm down, my hands shoved deep in my pocket so I wouldn't touch him.
"We'll go together," I offered as a compromise. "If she won't talk to me--"
Jake released me for a second and then his open palms slammed against my chest. I staggered a step but kept my hands in my pocket, the material straining as I formed two fists.
"You know she won't talk to you. That," he yelled as he pointed at her personal luggage. "That isn't a hissy fit or a lover's spat. That is a woman fleeing for her life."
"Joey knows I would never hurt her." The skin on my face burned hot enough that I felt it would blister.
"Don't you get it, you dumb bastard?"
I growled at the question. I loved my little brother, loved him every bit as hard and deep as Riona, but he was overstepping his boundaries.
"You already hurt her," he said flatly.
I st
aggered back, his words like a karate punch to the throat.
Ranting at me, Jake grabbed my sweater and jerked me close. "You're so fucking stuck on control..."
I grabbed his wrists, eye fucking him as I squeezed at the soft pressure points where bone and joint converged. "Yeah," I rasped. "I am. Which is why I'm going to talk to her first."
Untangling my sweater from his grip, I forced him to take a step back.
"And if I have to kill King to make sure she's safe from him," I warned. "I will."
********************
The hours crawled until I felt that I could have made better time reaching Boston and Joey if I had walked. Mishka worked on tracking which flight she took out of Miami while sending people to check both her apartment in Chicago and Boston hotels. Jake and Alexa packed while I paced and, after another four damnable hours had passed since I woke to an empty bed, the jet was ready for take-off.
If only it had been as simple as landing in Boston and knowing she would be there. But it wasn't that easy. Mishka moved on from checking airlines to trains and car rentals. I had him put a team on Maxwell King when we reached Boston and the only progress Mishka had to report was that Joey had rented a car at the Miami airport, no destination listed.
If she was headed for Boston, the drive would take at least two days, three if she took reasonable breaks and stopped for a full night's sleep each time. Somehow, I knew she wasn't being reasonable. But she could have driven as far as a city like Jacksonville or Atlanta to throw me off the scent and then flown to Boston.
Three days...
That's how long it took to find her. Mishka, banned by my little brother from reporting directly to me, called Jake at seven in the morning with news that a town car and driver had been booked by Maxwell King to pick up a female passenger from the Ritz-Carlton at nine and transport her to the bayside offices from which the old man ruled a shabby little kingdom comprised of little more than smoke and mirrors.
"Baby, you should have done your homework..."
Realizing I had spoken the words, I looked from the window of our limo to my brother to see if he had heard me.
