Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  “Then why did you try and stop me when I was living here? Why did you constantly harass me about how unhealthy it was, that I was obsessed?”

  He held her by her upper arms and gave her a slight shake. “Because it is unhealthy and you are obsessed. You couldn’t even be around me because I reminded you too much of Sophia. How’s that for unhealthy?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She shoved her arms between his and pushed outward, but he tightened his hold. “Let go of me.”

  “We’re not finished.”

  “I am. This was a mistake.”

  “Telling me how you’ve felt all of these years or moving back in with me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe both.” She stilled and looked to the boxes on the foyer floor. “Please let me go.”

  Fear gripped him by the balls. He couldn’t lose her again. The things she’d said had hurt. But her words had been from the heart and were meant to heal old wounds, not create new ones. “I can’t.” He crushed his lips to hers. When she didn’t respond, he gripped her hair and tugged. She gasped and he took advantage. Curled his tongue around hers, kissed her with all of the love, hurt and pain that had been locked inside.

  She pushed at his chest, yet deepened the kiss. When her tears wet his face, he had a quick check of reality and tore his mouth away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you—”

  Looping her arms around his neck, she silenced him with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Need he hadn’t expected ignited his lust. He couldn’t live without her. He’d tried, but had ended up going through the motions of life on autopilot. Wake up, work, go to bed. Repeat. Without Jessica, there’d been no joy, nothing to look forward to, no one to turn to when he’d needed a friend. With her mouth on his, her tears cleansing his soul and washing away the past three and a half years, he knew in his gut that if she left him again, moving on autopilot wouldn’t work any longer. He’d laughed and loved and had experienced more joy in one week than he had in years. All because Jessica was with him again.

  “I hate fighting with you,” he murmured between kisses, then dragged his lips along her neck and pressed her back against the carpeted steps.

  “Me too. I’m so sorry, Dante.” She ran her fingers through his hair, then held his head. “I don’t want to ever leave and I don’t want either of us to hurt anymore. I didn’t mean to start a fight. I wanted tonight to be about starting a new beginning.”

  Gripping the hem of her shirt, he looked up at her. “Because we never stopped loving each other, we don’t need a new start.” He pulled her shirt over her head. “We need to pick up where we left off.”

  A small, sexy smile curved her lips. “On the stairs?”

  He stood and shoved his shorts down, then gripped the waistband of her yoga pants and panties, and dragged them over her hips and legs. “Do we need a bed?” he asked, lifting her in his arms. “I can arrange that.”

  With the way his erection brushed against her outer thigh, urgency made the short trip to the bedroom seem more like a hundred flights of stairs. She wiggled out of his arms, turned and gave him a small shove. When his rear hit the third step, she straddled his lap. “It’ll take too long,” she said, then groaned when she guided him into her heat.

  He slid his hands up her back, and when he reached her bra he quickly unfastened the clasps. In a heartbeat, his mouth was on her. His lips and tongue had her breasts swelling and her nipples hard. Her breath caught when his possessive hands gripped her bottom, bit into her flesh and moved her along his length. Planting her feet on the steps and using his shoulders to brace herself, she rode him. With that earlier sense of urgency slowly abating, she wanted to drag out the moment, embrace the way their bodies fit and united as one. She loved Dante so much and had never meant to hurt him. Now that he knew the truth and was well aware of the emotions she’d been harboring, there was no more running or hiding. And as she moved, rising and falling, the sheer ecstasy intensified and the dead weight, the baggage she’d been carrying, fell away. Leaving only her and Dante.

  He captured her lips and kissed her. Forceful, demanding, domineering. “We belong together,” he said after he broke the kiss. Still keeping himself buried inside her, he moved her to the area rug on the foyer floor. “Don’t ever forget that.” He pulled out, then thrust hard.

  Digging her heels into the carpet and running her hands along his hard chest, she met each of his thrusts. She could never forget what she knew in her heart. They did and always would belong together. No matter what, he owned a piece of her heart and soul, and she was so grateful and blessed to not only have him in her life, but that he’d stuck with her after she’d wronged him. Memories of the fear of losing him rushed through her. Needing to feel closer, to feel his heart beat against hers, she twined her arms around his neck and brought them chest to breast. As he moved his body, he pushed his hands through her hair and kissed her. Hot, open-mouthed, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his hips.

  Ripples of desire built. She wanted to come, but also wanted this moment to go on and on, to be one with him, to show him with her body what her words couldn’t ever express. She loved him more than herself, more than life. She’d been dead inside without him. Dead and lost to the world, with only her obsession to keep her company.

  No more.

  She held him tighter and kissed his strong jaw, his neck, his shoulder. His breath came in short, harsh pants. Hovering over her, driving his length deep, he stared into her eyes. The undeniable passion and love darkening his eyes melted away any lingering uncertainties. Dante was her husband, her best friend and lover. He would always love her, as she would always love him.

  That knowledge soared through her, erased her fears, disintegrated the last of her doubts. She came in a rush, her orgasm strengthening with each hard pump of his hips, until he drove deep one last time and let out a deep, husky moan.

  He collapsed on top of her, but used his forearms to keep his weight from crushing her. Breathing hard, his heart rate drumming against her chest, he kissed her temple, then her forehead. “I’m getting too old for floor and stairs sex,” he said, and gave her lips a long lingering kiss.

  She pinched his tight ass. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Rolling onto his side, he traced a path from the hollow of her throat, down between her breasts to her stomach. Before he reached her bikini line, where slight stretch marks marred her, she quickly covered her exposed skin.

  He moved her hand away. “Don’t.”

  She spread her fingers, trying to conceal as many of the scars as possible. “They’re ugly.”

  “No.” He pushed her hand aside and traced one of the faint lines. “They’re a part of you. And they remind me of what you’ve given us. Even though Sophia’s not with us, the short time she was were some of the best days of my life.”

  “Mine, too,” she said, then met his gaze. “I know it bothers you that I never say her name.”

  A sexy, smirk curved his lips. “You did before you seduced me on the steps.”

  She grinned. “If I recall, you were the one who started removing my clothes.”

  “A technicality.” His smile fell. “It does bother me. I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but just because she’s not with us doesn’t mean we can’t or shouldn’t celebrate her memory.”

  Thanks to him, she knew that now. She’d been punishing and pushing herself for so many years, she never allowed herself to embrace the joy Sophia had brought them. She only remembered the pain of losing her. “Thank you for showing me how to celebrate her…Sophia’s life,” she said, loving the way her daughter’s name rolled off her tongue. Just saying it made her feel closer to her.

  He kissed her cheek. “And remember that it’s okay to celebrate what we have, too.”

  She nodded, and twined her fingers with his. “I’m sorry I didn’t, and I’m sorry for the hurtful things I said to you. It felt good letting it all out, until I realized how—”

  “
Please. It’s over.” He moved their joined hands to his mouth, and kissed her wrist. “But if there ever comes a time when you start having those feelings again, talk to me about them. I don’t want you to shut me out. I don’t want to lose you.”

  She tightened her hold on his hand. “You won’t. I love you too much.”

  He brushed his lips along hers. “I love you, too,” he said, just as the stove timer signaled the casserole was finished. “Come on, let’s get dressed and eat. I still have a surprise for you.”

  She found her yoga pants and underwear. “You’re not going to make me wait until after dinner, are you?”

  “That was my plan,” he said, pulling on his shorts.

  “What did you make for us?”

  “Stuffed shells.”

  Another one of her favorites. “Shouldn’t you let the dish rest for a few minutes? Besides, it might not be finished cooking.”

  He chuckled. “Fine. Surprise first, dinner second.”

  She put on her bra and, pulling her t-shirt over her head, followed him into the small den off the kitchen.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. After she obeyed, he led her into the room. “Okay. Open them.”

  When she did, fresh tears immediately stung her eyes. She quickly blinked them away to admire his gift.

  “Since all of your paints had dried up, I thought you could use some new ones.”

  She let go of him and ran her fingers along the new easel and blank canvas. For the first time in years, colorful, beautiful ideas sprang into her mind and she pictured a seascape or maybe the Chicago skyline, or better yet, their vegetable garden or her favorite lilac bush gracing the canvas. She eyed the paint, along with the new brushes and grinned. “I love it,” she said, rushing into his arms and hugging him. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a quick kiss. “You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to watching you work again. Preferably naked.”

  She laughed and hugged him tighter. “I’ve never painted a live model. Maybe I should do a nude of you.”

  “Will you be naked, too?”

  “If I am, I have a feeling I’d never get the painting done.”

  The stove timer dinged again. Dante gave her another kiss, then said, “Let’s eat. And over dinner we can discuss this nude painting deal. It’s an intriguing concept.”

  She stopped him. “Thank you again. For everything.”

  He cupped her cheeks. “Thank you. Cancelling your lease is one of the best gifts I’ve had in a long time.” He brushed his lips against hers, and before the kiss grew out of control, he pulled back on a frustrated groan. “We better stop now or our dinner will be ruined.”

  “Or, you could let the dish sit on the stove for a while,” she said, rubbing her hand along his thickening arousal.

  “And miss out on dessert?” He took her hand and headed out of the den. “I have plans that involve whipped cream.”

  Desire curled through her stomach. She couldn’t wait…

  THE THIRD TRIMESTER

  There was a little girl, she had a little curl

  Right in the middle of her forehead;

  And when she was good, she was very, very good,

  And when she was bad, she was horrid.

  —Mother Goose

  Chapter 14

  CHLOE YOUNG SHIFTED her aching body on the cement outside of the building she’d been calling home for the past week. Every inch of her hurt. Physically, she’d survive and be fine in a few days, but she didn’t think she could ever forget last night and how those men had made her suffer. Exhausted and still strung out from the numerous injections they’d given her, she tried to forget anyway. She tried to search for the rainbows and sunshine she’d sought last night. But all her mind could conjure were the quick, blurry images of Spencer and his dickhead friends raping her, laughing as they each took their turn, touching her nude, swollen body, the hazy smoke from cigarettes and weed, the strong smell of booze.

  The prick of the needle.

  Right now, she hated the drug. Hated that Roman had ever introduced it to her, that she’d stupidly tried it and had ultimately become hooked. She hated herself even more for wanting it again. Not from Spencer, though. He’d dropped her off this morning, leaving her with a needle and enough for a hit, and told her she wouldn’t have to worry. He wouldn’t be coming back.

  She didn’t trust him. Why wouldn’t he come back for her? She was alone and defenseless. An easy target. No one cared about her. No one would worry if she disappeared or was found dead.

  The baby kicked and she rubbed her stomach. She hadn’t wanted the child, but last night, as she wove in and out of consciousness, she’d realized that maybe this baby was her rainbows and sunshine. She wouldn’t be alone anymore. She’d have someone to care about and, in return, her child would love her.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. But how could she raise a baby when she couldn’t even afford to eat or find a place to live? She’d planned to go back to work after he was born, but that was before she decided to keep him. She couldn’t be a prostitute and a mother. That was no life for a child. But she could go back home.

  Home.

  She rested her head against the brick building and let the morning sunlight warm her tears. Her parents’ house wasn’t the nicest on their street, but it had been a wonderful place to grow up and she had plenty of memories she cherished during the darkest of times. They had a fenced-in backyard and she could imagine her young son laughing and squealing as he chased after their poodle, Pebbles. God, she’d been gone for three years. Pebbles had been about eight or nine when she’d left. The dog might not even be around anymore, which made her wonder what else had changed. Had her parents moved? What about her brother? He should have graduated this year. Was he going to college? Or maybe he’d decided to join the service, or go into a trade. Was her grandma still around? Did her dad still laze on the hammock out back in the summer? Did her mom still coordinate the bake sales at their church?

  Did they miss her?

  She swiped at her face. Her eyes had been forced open. She’d seen and experienced some seriously bad shit since living in Chicago, but had never been on the receiving end until last night. Going to the police wasn’t an option. They’d take one look at the track marks on her arms and ignore whatever accusations she’d sling toward Spencer and his friends. As it was, she didn’t even know if she could give the cops Spencer’s exact address. Since they all used condoms and none of them had left a mark on her, what proof did she even have that last night had happened?None.

  And she had no way of stopping it from happening again unless she smartened up and found a way out of the mess she’d made. Whether she’d wanted him or not, she was going to have this baby. The baby moved again, or maybe it was fear giving her a good, hard swift kick. She knew nothing about childbirth, and it had been years since she’d babysat. Her mom would know what to do. But would she take her back? Or would she turn away her whore of daughter and bastard grandchild?

  Her mom’s warm, smiling face filled her head. There was only one way to find out. A collect call could take her away from this place and transport her from hell back to the life she should have never left.

  In that instant, the rainbows and sunshine she’d been seeking emerged behind her closed eyes. Too tired to move and find a phone, she sat on the damp, hard cement and drifted back to a time when life was good, innocent and carefree. When her biggest concerns had been which outfit to wear to school, or if she’d make the cheerleading squad. To home baked cookies, family holidays, picnics and bike rides with her brother. To—

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  The woman’s soothing voice washed over her and brought her the peace she’d sought. It meshed with her memories and made her feel cherished, loved.

  “Chloe?”

  A warm hand caressed her cheek and she smiled. It had been so long since she’d been touched with gentleness and concern.

  “Chloe, honey, you’re scaring me. Open your e
yes.”

  She didn’t want to. If she did, the rainbows and sunshine might disappear again.

  “Now,” the woman’s voice became firmer and, when a hand gripped her shoulder, Chloe winced and forced open her eyes.

  Heather. The blond, curly haired Bible-thumper. She’d almost forgotten about her.

  “What happened to you?” Heather asked, crouching next to her.

  “I told you this wasn’t a safe place.”

  “Wh—what do you mean? Did someone hurt you?”

  She shrugged. “I think there was six or seven of them. I can’t remember now.”

  “Praise Jesus! Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Did they hurt the baby?”

  Surprisingly, other than the smack to the face Spencer had given her outside of his apartment, he and his friends hadn’t raised a hand to her, and had avoided touching her stomach as if it had been infected by disease. “No. No doctors. The baby is fine. He’s still moving and doing his thing.”

  Heather’s sigh bordered on relief, but the worry remained in her blue eyes. “You can’t stay here.”

  She half-smiled. “No shit.”

  “What can I do for you, honey?” Heather asked, and held her hand.

  She glanced to their joined hands. Hers looked rough, veiny and frail in comparison to Heather’s soft pudgy one. She was almost nineteen and had the hands of a fifty-year-old woman. If she didn’t do something quick, she’d die out here. Old before her time. Alone. And what of her baby then? Would he be jostled from foster home to foster home? Unloved, uncared for, another statistic, another lost soul?

  A fresh tear slipped down her cheek. “Can you help me go home?”

  Heather’s smile brightened her face and tears filled the woman’s eyes. “Where’s home?”