Forever (Eternity #1)

by Allyson Young

  “Good point.” He caught her staring and realized he hadn’t responded to her little jibe.

  “I need to share something, sweetheart.” The hint of wariness in her eyes, the former happiness beginning to fade, made him spill it.

  “I’m not who I told you I am. Not a crime boss, not really. I’m undercover. In a way.” He waited for her to ask questions, suddenly uncertain what else to say.

  A slow blink, followed by another, violet eyes again darkening to gentian, but this time with an emotion he couldn’t read. The blood drained from her face and he was glad she was sitting down. Her lips parted and then shut tightly, only to open again as she sucked in an audible gulp of air in order to breathe some words out.

  “Holy fuck.”

  “I’ll get you a piece of cake.” Avoiding her face, he pushed up from the table and moved to the counter, choosing a steak knife to saw through the partially frozen dessert. He set a large piece on the plate and carried it to her.

  Staring at the hunk of chocolate, then up at him, Amy appeared totally bemused. She broke eye contact, picked up her fork and sliced off a piece of cake, placed it in her mouth and chewed. She swallowed and put another piece of the sweet on the utensil, pausing only to take a drink of milk.

  “Amy?”

  One single negative shake. She made steady inroads on the dessert until only crumbs remained. Those she mashed with the tines of the fork, and Dean picked up on the restraint she was displaying. It was evident in the way her fingers pinched the fork and in the tenseness of her body. Standing abruptly, she picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. Dean jumped despite himself when she hurled the inoffensive piece of china against the unforgiving stainless steel where it shattered.

  “Jesus H. Christ, Dean! Any other surprises? Any other minor freaking things I should be apprised of?” She was incredibly beautiful, cheeks now flushed with hectic color, eyes glowing, breasts heaving with indignation above the curve of her pregnant belly. He’d upset her two days in a row, damn it.

  “That’d be it.”

  “Uh huh. Okay, then.” Throwing her hands in the air she turned and stormed into their bedroom and the bathroom door slammed. He followed slowly and stood outside it, resting his forehead in his palm. Maybe he should have waited a little longer. He just didn’t know how much time they had before he and his crew were up against it.

  Water thundered into the tub and he distinctly heard the metal lid of Amy’s bath salts rattle, envisioning her slamming the container back into place after tipping a generous amount into the bath water. When the taps were turned off, he quietly entered.

  Amy lay amidst a foaming sea of bubbles, the taut buds of her nipples coated in the froth, her long legs bent to accommodate her height. Head tipped back on a folded towel, long length of hair spilling over the edge of the tub, she kept her eyes closed, although he had no doubt she’d heard him come in. He perched beside her and picked up her pink bath sponge, squeezing on some body wash. Amy’s eyes flew open at the sound and he just knew she was remembering the first time he’d taken care of her. It had been the first time he’d taken care of any woman he’d had in his bed and he wished he’d told her that piece of information. It seemed really important now.

  Wordlessly, she sat up and leaned forward, lifting that abundance of hair and piling it up on her head, holding it in place with both hands, resting her forehead on her knees. Dean washed her shoulders and the nape of her neck, then drifted the sponge down the velvety length of her back. After rinsing her, he eased her back with a gentle pressure on one shoulder and reached to wash her throat and upper chest.

  “I was recruited fresh out of the service. Put in to replace a guy I’d done some work for as a kid, after he went up on a bunch of charges. He died in prison, so it was easy to stay on. It was a long-term plan, sweetheart, and perfect for me. I had no ties, no family I cared about, and my whole life to wait.”

  “For what?” At least she was speaking to him.

  “To take down somebody who’s been moving out from LA in ever widening circles, annexing all the bigger cities.”

  “Like what you do? Protection? Betting? Laundering money?”

  “More. But he’s highly structured and wants it all. He wants to absorb the drug trade and all the whore stables, too. We figure it’s just him, well-insulated from the people he employs, but he’s organized and smart, has one hell of a set-up. Law enforcement apparently can’t figure out who he is, but Burnett is always the forerunner. I pushed Burnett out, figuring it would get an immediate reaction, force the head guy’s hand. I was wrong.” He set the sponge down and rolled his sleeves up, then felt for her ankle, cradling it in his hand to lift it out of the water. Paying close attention to washing her long, narrow foot, he waited.

  “So what does that mean? You have to start again?” Amy lifted her other leg without any encouragement, crossing it over the opposite knee as he lowered her foot back into the tub beneath the diminishing bubbles.

  Circling the sponge over the curve of her calf, “I think he’s making a move, or will be shortly.”

  “So it could hit the fan, then.”

  “Yes. C’mon, get up.”

  It took her a second to process, nose wrinkling, brow furrowing, but she struggled upright with his aid. He efficiently washed the rest of her, noting how she went up on her toes when he ran the sponge between her legs and up the cleft of her buttocks, and his cock took notice too, but he subdued his carnal interest despite the past hiatus in their sexual congress. They had to talk, not fuck. He helped her out of the tub.

  Standing on the bath mat, Amy wound a large towel around herself while he released the water, then allowed him to lead her into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and Dean pulled the chair close.

  “I wanted to tell you for a long time. Even before I was an asshole. And then afterwards…”

  “So you tell me you love me and share your secret identity all in two days.” She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand.

  “Would you have believed me before?”

  “That you loved me? Maybe. Yes. I don’t know.” She knuckled her eyes. “Yes. I think I’ve always known.”

  It took her a few minutes to continue, but that was probably because his weight took her backwards on the bed, and his mouth forestalled any further sharing. When he released her lips, she blinked up at him, eyes dazed and her full mouth swollen.

  “Just thought I’d confirm your last assumption, Amy,” he told her, hearing the rasp in his throat as he did so. He returned to sit in the chair, after pulling her back up to her former position, and tucking the ends of the towel into place.

  “Oh. Uh huh.” She stared back earnestly. “But, Dean, the undercover thing … didn’t you think it was something I should know?”

  “Yes. But it wasn’t just me, us, to consider.”

  Tilting her head, Amy obviously worked things through, her intelligence evident. “Randy?”

  “Randy. And Andrea.” Dean ran a fingertip down her forearm.

  After a few moments, she nodded thoughtfully. “You withhold from me again, Dean Chambray, and I’ll poison your food. No bullshit excuses about your dear old mom fucking you up, or your cynicism from the work you do. You either trust me or you don’t.”

  Dean had a satisfying vision of smacking a curved ass bright pink before fucking it, but recognized it for the red herring it was, and solemnly nodded back.

  Amy stood and unwound the bath sheet, dumping it unceremoniously on his lap. Her skin glowed from the heat of her bath and he felt his mouth water as she slipped beneath the covers. “Going to bed. I’m done like toast.”

  He hung her towel up and headed back to the kitchen to put the food away and stack the dishwasher, trying not to think about that sweet ass. Domesticated. Whipped. Fine.

  ****

  “It makes sense now.”

  Dean knew she wasn’t asleep, could tell by the remaining tension in her body when he finally climbed into bed, reachi
ng to pull her against him as always. He’d figured she was thinking.

  “What?” He was a little anxious to even ask, but she hadn’t had very long to assimilate the revelation.

  “You talk like a lowlife at times, then slip into a college dialect. I thought it was because you chose to fit in with whomever.”

  “The military paid for my education and also educated me in ways I’d never learn from books. I’m more comfortable speaking lowlife. I grew up lowlife.” He punctuated his statement with a sly pinch of her nipple.

  “Ouch! Jeez, babe. They’re sensitive.”

  “And I didn’t pay them any attention today at all. That’ll change tomorrow.”

  The tiny shiver she made suggested he didn’t have to wait, but there was so much more to discuss, because he knew her quick brain would come to all of it. He wasn’t disappointed.

  Amy pulled away, scrambling towards the edge of the bed and there was a click. Light flooded the room and she lurched to a sitting position, one shoulder against the headboard, holding the sheet to her breasts. He could see how wide her eyes were.

  “You sent someone after Brent. What kind of cop does that?”

  “This kind,” he returned implacably. “I’m not actually a cop. I have no status. If things go sour, I’m fucked. But it gives me leeway I might not have otherwise. And I couldn’t deal with that asshole myself, unfortunately, so had to arrange it.”

  “But—”

  “No one hurts you, Amy. Well, except for me when I’m being an asshole, and those days are past. But you’re mine and I protect what’s mine.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve been in this business for over six years, sweetheart. I’ve crossed plenty of lines during that time. Nature of the game. I’ve had to live with those decisions, supported, by the way, by my handler. Taking care of Whittaker is something I’m happy to live with, and I made that decision without checking with anyone first. Having said that, I want out of this gig and if what I believe is coming materializes, that’ll be sooner than later.”

  Biting down on her full bottom lip, Amy studied him, her hair now a wild, tangled mane. Dean felt a cold hit of fear in the base of his belly. Remembering her concern about someone going through her to get to him, he knew she’d be worrying about their baby. What if she thought it too big a risk?

  “You scared?” He needed to get her talking.

  Nodding, she worried her lip some more.

  “I want you to move in with Sandra.”

  “No.”

  “Jesus, Amy. I just told you I expect a shitstorm, and you’re scared, justifiably so. If you live with Sandra for the next while you’ll be safer, and—”

  “No.”

  “Then go to Harold and Francine, just for the next—”

  “Uh uh.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Flouncing flat, Amy yanked the sheet up around her shoulders and reached to shut the light.

  “Amy!”

  “Go to sleep, Dean. I need some time to process all of this.”

  Give me strength. He reached to haul her close again.

  She spoke so softly, her voice muffled by a drift of hair, he had to strain to hear her.

  “Nobody ever cared enough to protect me before, except for Sandra. It’s part of my forever.”

  He felt her slip away into sleep shortly afterwards, leaving him to ponder her statement. Once again, she humbled him, especially when he’d failed her so badly before. He’d have to put another man on her, probably Olsen. Amy didn’t like the man much, but he was the guy who willingly moved wherever he was needed, and had a mean streak a mile wide. Dean could wind him up and put him in defense mode.

  ****

  Amy wouldn’t talk to him about the previous day’s revelation. He woke to a hot, wet mouth enveloping the head of his cock, a questing tongue tantalizing the sensitive notch. Nearly embarrassing himself with the insanely quick build to his release when she deep throated him, moaning, the vibrations scrambling both his balls and his brains. Dean felt his cum jet out in hard, unrelenting spurts, and Amy took it all, releasing him with a smug, pleased look on her face. She bounced from their bed, all round curves and silky skin and he caught up with her brushing her teeth, scrubbing with enthusiasm. She spit and rinsed, her morning sickness well past. He pressed her up against the vanity and fisted a hand in her hair, pulling her head back, bowing her body to lift her breasts. Admiring their additional heft and darker nipples, he used his free hand to roll each bud into a hard, thrusting point. Amy watched his movements in the mirror, and he, in turn, watched her watch. Her violet eyes glazed a little and her lips parted as he increased the pressure.

  Releasing her hair, he slid his hand beneath her buttocks to find her pussy lips already slick and wet. He lubricated his fingers and drew her cream back to her anus, pressing insistently against the puckered star. As he popped through the outer ring of muscle, she gasped and her head lolled back against his shoulder. The mirror reflected the split of her folds as she adjusted her stance and he fucked his finger in and out of her back entrance, adding another to stretch her ever wider. With a judicious hitch of his hips he manoeuvred her cunt against the cool edge of the vanity top. Eyes popping wide she ground her pelvis against the granite as he increased the invasion of her anus and tormented her nipples. One of her hands came up to weave into his hair and she came, jerking against the counter, the scent of aroused woman wafting up around them. Dean carefully withdrew his fingers and eased her to the side in order to wash his hands.

  In a disembodied voice, she asked, “Scrambled okay?”

  Meeting her slumberous eyes in the mirror, Dean nodded, hiding a smile. “I’ll take a quick shower.”

  Breakfast was ready as soon as he made it to the kitchen, stopping only to towel off and pull on a pair of boxers. He sat opposite her, prepared to enjoy his meal and continue their conversation, but Amy wouldn’t go there. She was wrapped in her robe, and had brushed her hair, her skin glowing without any cosmetics.

  “You’ve said it all, right? No more surprises?”

  “Right.”

  “Then we wait and see if this guy shows his face. You deal with it, and then we move on. I don’t see any point in talking about it any further.”

  That was his Amy. She’d put her faith in him, and all he could do was try to ensure her safety to the very best of his ability. “Mike will be assigned to you when you’re out and Olsen while you’re at home.”

  As expected, Amy’s mouth indicated her opinion of Olsen, like she’d bitten into something sour, but unexpectedly, she didn’t balk. So she was scared, probably terrified, but in true Amy fashion she’d puzzled it out and accepted what she couldn’t change. Unless she moved in with Sandra or the Bowers, which she refused to do, he had to admire her savoir faire. And seeing as he was part of her forever, Dean really didn’t want her to live away from him. He’d just have to ensure her safety. Hers and their child’s.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m all lopsided.” Amy stood sideways in front of the long mirror, one hand resting on the top of her bulge, the other beneath, pressing the material of her shirt against her shape. Her breasts, restrained behind a “sensible” bra, jutted proudly above the baby belly. She twisted slightly to look at her ass and frowned.

  “You look beautiful.” It was easy to say, because it was true. Dean stepped into her back, looping his arms around her to hug her close, setting a hand on either side of her belly.

  “I’m getting tired of being pregnant,” she confided, relaxing against him. “Baby is not cooperating. She wakes up when I want to sleep. We can’t seem to get coordinated. And my back aches.”

  He’d stuffed his brain with information on pregnancy, and understood the last trimester to be significantly different than the first two. He’d pretty much missed the first one, and the middle months were like the Twilight zone, what with Amy’s retreat into serenity, at least until her sexuality asserted itself. Life seemed balanced,
with the exception of his fucking business, something he didn’t want to think too much about because all was quiet on that front, mocking his intuition. She wouldn’t marry him until the baby was born, and he gave her that, understanding she didn’t want to look pregnant in the pictures, although she looked so beautiful, all round and glowing, he wished she’d reconsider.

  “Not even two more months, sweetheart. The doctor says you’re doing great, gained just enough weight and your blood pressure is not too bad.”

  “Uh huh. And he doesn’t have to pee all the time and have to have sex on top or sideways.”

  Dean couldn’t stop his snort of laughter. Junior indeed came between them, if in a good way. But they’d figured it out and Amy couldn’t say she didn’t get taken care of. And she took care of him. But he tried to look serious. “We’ll try it from behind, later.”

  “Pig.” She extricated himself from his hold and wandered to the closet. “I need to go shopping. And I don’t want to take the mommy van.”

  Trying not to groan, Dean smiled instead. “Sandra working today?”

  “You don’t want to take me?” She matched his smile and arched a golden brow.

  Suckered. “What are we buying?”

  “Lingerie. I want to feel feminine. And maybe a couple of dresses. Some shoes.”

  “I’ll take you for the underwear.”

  “But—” She pouted.

  “Underwear.” It didn’t take much of an effort to be firm. Retail therapy was not his thing, but he’d do underwear. It was partly for him, after all.

  “Okay.” A trace of poutiness colored her tone, but she was smiling. “And Dean? We need to start looking for a crib and changing table and stuff.”

  Shit. He didn’t want to be living here when the baby came, but he had to wait for whatever was coming down to actually come down. His home was defensible, surrounded by his crew, and no way was he leaving Amy unattended in some house in suburbia. She might be going to Francine and Harold whether she agreed or not. Sandra was a bit too close for comfort and there was a chance someone might look for her there. And Enrico was still chasing that dream, inadvertently painting an arrow to Sandra’s.