Give Me Hell

by Kate McCarthy

  Steve’s eyes darken a fraction because it’s obvious why we were in the parking lot together. Surely my relationship with his daughter is the worst kept secret in the history of the world.

  “I see,” he mutters.

  He does. And the problem with him seeing is that our relationship has never been rightly addressed. I’ve always felt uncomfortable talking with Steve, knowing there’s been no verbal acknowledgement of said relationship. I’m not sure he knows how much Mac means to me, but it’s time he does. Right now seems a good a time as any to man up and clear the air.

  “I’m sure you do,” I reply. “I know I’m not the son-in-law you want for your little girl.” My hands clench with nerves. Having Steve’s hardened gaze directed on you is not easy to bear, but I press on. “I’m not a gentleman. I’m not refined. My choice of career is not distinguished or noble and my past is something I’m not proud of. My edges are rough, my tattoos are visible, and my language is colourful. I’m a drummer in a band, granted it’s a successful one, but it’s still a band. Our lifestyle is unstable. We’re only as good as our last hit, and everything we’ve worked for could topple at any moment. I’m not good enough. You know that. I know that.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” he says in a prickly tone.

  Shit. I’m an idiot. Rule number one in a relationship: never point out your faults to the father of the girl you love. I’m botching this up worse than a lost beat in an instrumental. “Okay, I will.” My eyes find Mac for the millionth time that night. She’s talking with Quinn now and though it appears she’s paying attention to what her assistant manager is saying, her gaze is on us, watchful and inquisitive. “I’m a good person. I’m loyal. I have manners and respect. I’ll do everything I can to make Mac happy, and I’ll protect her with my own life. I love your daughter, sir. I always have.” I pause before adding the final nail in my coffin. “And I asked her to marry me.”

  Steve’s lips press in a thin line but his expression is resigned, as if he expected this all along. “And her response?”

  “She said yes.”

  Silence reigns for a long moment. I grit my teeth, but I don’t dare break it. I barely draw a breath if I’m honest. I’ve just laid it all out for him. God knows what he’s thinking. Likely that he wants to put a bullet in me. Preferably at close range. If I had a daughter, it’s what I’d be doing. It’s to his credit that he’s not reaching for a gun right now.

  “It seems to me,” he eventually begins, “that there’s something you should probably know.”

  My shoulders draw tight, bracing. “And that is?”

  “Mitch explained to you that Alan owes me a favour?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “I called it in, son. For you.”

  Emotion blasts through me as if a bomb exploded in my chest. For a moment I can’t see, I can only feel, and it’s too much. It’s the first time he’s ever called me son. I’ve always just been Romero to him, the annoying young kid who broke his daughter’s arm and stole her away. Instead of kicking me to the kerb, he’s taken this valuable favour, a marker from the Deputy Commissioner—one of the most influential, powerful men in the State—that he’s held on to for years, as if waiting for the moment where it’s utterly necessary, important beyond all reason, to cash it in, and he cashed it in on me. “Sir,” I choke out.

  His voice is gruff. “Call me Steve.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I met your father once or twice, you know.”

  I startle with surprise. “You did?”

  “What happened to him was a shit thing to happen, but he’s still a good man, and I see glimpses of him in you. I know you did all the wrong things as a kid, but you were exactly that. A kid. One making adult decisions. They might have been bad ones, but you made them for all the right reasons. Since then you’ve been smart enough to ask for help. Smart enough to choose a better path. That shows strength of character and determination. It shows you’re a man who does whatever he has to in order to take care of those he loves. You did what you had to do, Jake. Your father is lucky to have you.” Steve takes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “And so are we.”

  I’m lost for words. I never realised how much his approval meant to me until now. It feels tangible, as if I’m literally holding it in both hands. Steve was always just there in the background, a hurdle I never quite figured out how to go over or under, or get around. Turns out I managed to go right through the middle. Huh. “That means a lot to hear, sir.”

  “Steve,” he barks, letting go of my shoulder.

  I nod and correct myself. “Steve.”

  “So tell me, if my daughter said yes…” a curious glint lights his eyes “…why is she not wearing your ring?”

  “I made her take it off in the parking lot.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the thing, Steve,” I say, feeling odd using the familiar term. He’s always been a sir to me. For years. “We ran into Adam Rossiter outside. I didn’t want him to see the ring and put two and two together, so I’ve taken it back for now. But it seems he put two and two together anyway.” I give him a rundown of our conversation outside (or lack thereof) and mention Ross pointing an imaginary gun at Mac before we re-joined the party indoors. “How are you so sure he won’t touch either of us?”

  “The only power Alan holds over that boy is his trust fund. He told Ross he would revoke the inheritance if you weren’t left to walk free. It was the only course of action open to us and not an idle threat by Alan. Ross took him seriously, but there’s something deeply evil in that child. He doesn’t care who he hurts to get what he wants. And if he can’t get at you …” Steve breaks off, his face the colour of snow. “I need to talk to Alan.”

  JAKE

  Steam fills the bathroom as I check the water temperature in the shower. It’s just short of blistering, which is perfect. I step inside and turn, holding out my hand. Mac takes it, letting me lead her. I pull her close until her naked chest is pressed to mine.

  We have the duplex to ourselves, and we’re taking advantage. My arms slide around Mac’s silky skin. She relaxes into me and buries her head in my neck as the spray of water scalds our skin red. Lust spreads hot inside me, but I ignore it. We’re both exhausted. I just want to hold Mac close and revel in this quiet moment.

  It’s been twenty-four hours since the party, but it feels like a lifetime when you’re busy worrying every single minute of it. I’m still waiting to hear back from Steve. My body has been so tight with tension over the whole situation that I’ve been suffering a dull headache since I woke this morning. And Henry called earlier. He’s spending time with Grace at the loft. His father arrived from Melbourne, and they’re having a quiet family gathering tonight.

  I absently stroke Mac’s hair, my heart hurting for Grace, Henry, and Casey. They’re my family. And it’s so hard to know what to do or say. Sorry can be such a trite word. It doesn’t convey the depth of emotion you’re feeling as you watch the lives of those you love completely unravel.

  Mac sighs. She’s so quiet. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice husky.

  “I’m just tired,” she mumbles into my neck. “So tired. I want to stand under this hot water with you for an eternity.”

  My lips kiss a soothing path along her brow. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

  Her lids flutter against my skin, soft as a butterfly. I like her this way. Her trust in me right now is strong, vital, and it tugs at my chest. If I’ve gained anything from our tumultuous past, it’s the knowledge that this trust is fundamental to our future. We won’t survive without it, but I can’t explain about Ross.

  I don’t even want to think about him right now. I push all the worry to the back of my mind, though I know it will resurface later tonight leaving me sleepless for hours. Taking Mac’s shoulders, I turn her so that her back faces me. Right now is just for us.

  I pick up the soap. The suds are thick and creamy as I lather over her skin. I set the bar asi
de and massage her shoulders with firm hands, digging deep in the tense knots. She moans with pleasure, her head tipping back.

  My eyes take in her beauty with wonder. That she agreed to marry me still hasn’t sunk in. “Will you take my name?” I ask at random, because it rolls through my head. Mackenzie Romero. It doesn’t have the same rolling lilt as Valentine does, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. A sense of belonging. Of finding home. In her.

  A furrow forms in her brow. “I haven’t thought about it.”

  Disappointment wells. I push it aside. I proposed only yesterday. Mac needs time for it to sink in too. Time to think about the smaller details.

  “Do you want me to?” she asks.

  “Of course I want you to.”

  My hands fall away as Mac turns, and the shower beats down washing the thick suds away. “You don’t think it’s a little archaic?”

  “Seriously?” I swipe drops of water from my face. “No. It’s not archaic. It’s a tradition that binds us, and our kids, as a family unit.”

  Mac steps back beneath the spray and the sudden distance feels more emotional than physical, as if a wall of hesitation has erected between us.

  “I’m not going to force it on you, Mac. If you don’t want to take my name, you don’t have to.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she protests. “It would just feel … I don’t know. I’ve always been a Valentine and I never imagined that changing. Do we have to decide now?” she asks, her chest rising and falling in agitation. “It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow.”

  It’s my first inkling that marriage is something she feels uneasy about, and my stomach drops. Did she say yes out of obligation? I want to ask and yet I supress the words. I’m a coward. I don’t want to hear she’s changed her mind, but I don’t have to hear it when I’m beginning to sense it. Once again, our future feels hazy when just moments ago it was clearer than the green of her eyes.

  “You’re right,” I say, reaching across to turn off the taps as hurt thumps deep beneath my ribcage. The bathroom settles into silence, save for the residual drips from the showerhead. “It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow.”

  If at all …

  I step out and grab a fluffy white towel, handing it to Mac. She clutches it to her chest, watching me with tired eyes as water drips from her hair. “Are you okay?”

  No. I’m not okay. My insides are bruised as if I’ve taken a punch to the gut. I want to stomp off and sulk, but I can’t seem to tear myself from her side. Her hold over me is so strong the entire world could implode and it still won’t break.

  “I’m okay,” I say, because above all else, I care most about what she wants. About her happiness. And I care about the limited time we have together. I don’t want to ruin it with another in a long line of endless fights. “Come here.”

  Mac steps out onto the bathmat, her eyes shuttering, but not before I see the relief. That they shuttered at all just about kills me.

  I take the towel she’s clutching to her chest. She stands still as I use it to dry her off, letting me take care of her. “What do you want to do?” I ask, rubbing at her hair. She’d let it grow for a while but now it’s back to its short, choppy style just above her shoulders. I love it this way. It’s sexy. Sassy. It suits her perfectly.

  “How about a movie?” Mac suggests. “I can make popcorn?”

  “With butter?” I ask as she steals the towel from my hands.

  “Uh huh,” she murmurs, dabbing drops of water from my chest. Her eyes glaze a little, like they always do when she stares at it. I enjoy knowing my body gets her hot. A single glance and the rise in her blood pressure is entirely visible. But only to me. The crest of her cheekbones flush the palest of pinks. It gets my cock stirring eagerly. I flex a little and get treated to the corners of her lips tipping upward. “And a drizzle of golden syrup.”

  Mac knows my favourite.

  An hour later we’re settled on the couch, our bellies full. Mac is wearing a thin cotton tee shirt and panties. The most I bother with is a pair of boxer briefs, the colour a deep red.

  I’m laid out on my back. Mac rests on top of me, but further down. The side of her face is pressed to my naked abdomen, her tits are squashed against my hips, and her fingertips flutter along my thighs. They trail upward, tickling lightly, absentmindedly, until I feel them tug a little at the red cotton. “I like these,” she murmurs, her eyes on the television. We’re watching a Dwayne Johnson action movie. Mac was agreeable because she thinks he’s hot. Lucky for me she has a thing for the big, bulky dudes.

  “That’s because you bought them for me.”

  “I knew they’d be perfect on you. Red is your colour. It looks nice against all this tanned, tattooed skin,” she says, her palm skimming up and over my abs. They contract slightly at the feathered touch. “Mmm.”

  Her touch lowers, leaving a trail of warmth in her wake. I snag her wrist before she reaches my rapidly hardening dick. “Uh uh,” I rebuke, setting her hand to the side, though it pains me to do so. “Movie.”

  Mac huffs and my chuckle is deep, making her head wobble where it rests against my stomach.

  My gaze returns to the screen of the television, but a scant five minutes later the flutter of her fingertips travel along my hip. Lust tingles down my spine.

  “Mmm,” she moans huskily when my cock jerks against her breastbone.

  “What are you up to, hmm?”

  “Nothing.” Mac tilts her head and presses a kiss to my heated skin. “Nothing at all.” Her tongue snakes out with a slow lick and a shiver racks my body. “Watch the movie, Romero,” she orders.

  Mac slithers downward. Her tongue trails a delicious path until it reaches the edge of my underwear. Then she hovers her mouth above my covered cock for a long moment. Her breath is light through the thin fabric, yet my cock feels it and gives another almighty jerk, knowing how close it is to receiving pleasure.

  I grasp her chin with my thumb and forefinger, my grip harsh as I lift her head. Mac’s green eyes are dark when they meet mine. “Somebody’s hungry,” I say, my voice gruff because having her like this, submissive and at groin level, steals my breath. “You want to suck it, Princess? You want it in your mouth? Or do you want it in your pussy?”

  Mac licks her lips. “Jake …”

  “Tell me,” I say, giving up all pretence of watching the movie. “What do you want?”

  “Both,” she croaks, her fingers tightening against my skin. I feel their pull, their need to touch, all the way down to my toes. “I want both.”

  My hand releases her chin in unspoken permission.

  Free to do as she pleases, Mac tugs my underwear down. My hard dick surges upward, pulsing heavily. Without wasting a single second, her hot, wet mouth closes over the head. I watch as she slides down and sucks upward and my head tips back against the arm of the sofa. A hoarse groan breaks free of my throat.

  Just like that I’m ready to come. My cock surges further inside the wet heat, desperate for more. I fist my hands at my side to stop them yanking on her hair to shove her mouth further down.

  I let myself surrender to her mouth and tongue for an entire minute. Then I sit forward and grasp underneath her armpits, pulling her off and dragging her upward. Anymore and I’ll shoot through the roof.

  “I’m not finished,” Mac snaps before my lips cover hers and smother her complaint as she straddles my hips.

  She sinks into my body with a moan of surrender. The sound sets me on fire. My blood burns as I grab her thighs. My fingers dig into flesh as I stand from the couch and lift her with me.

  I take the stairs one at a time as Mac kisses me, her lips soft, wet, and relentless. We reach her room and I toss her gently on the bed. She bounces backward, her breath hitching when I reach for her panties and inch them slowly down before tossing them behind me.

  Leading with my left knee, I climb on the bed between her legs and spread them as I move upward. My calloused palms glid
e along her skin until I reach the crease of her thighs.

  My finger skims along the golden skin just above her right hipbone. “You need a tattoo,” I say, circling the area. “Right here.”

  “Oh?” Her body quivers when I lean down and lick my tongue flat across the spot. “What should I get?”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, doing a bad job of halting the possessive grin. “Property of Jake Romero.”

  Mac gasps but her eyes light up with laughter. She rips the pillow out from behind her with a giggle and whacks me in the face with it. It’s the equivalent of getting punched by a butterfly. “I’m not your possession!”

  I laugh and cup her pussy with my palm. “Maybe not, but this is.”

  She tosses the pillow to the side and grabs for my cock where it still pokes out above my underwear. She holds it like a handle. “Then that makes this mine. Perhaps you should be getting a tattoo that says Property of Mackenzie Valentine.”

  I grin. “Gladly. He’s proud to be all yours.”

  “Oh he is, is he?” My dick is still hard as stone, and she gives it a good squeeze. “And how do you know that? He’s likely proud to be anyone’s.”

  “Shhh,” I whisper, putting a finger to my lips. “He has tender feelings, Princess. He’ll be hurt to hear you think him so fickle.”

  Mac shakes her head, lets me go, and falls back on the bed with a giggle. “You’re a total nut, Romero.”

  I grab both her knees before she can blink, lifting them up and spreading them wide. Holding them apart, I dip my head to where her pussy gleams pink and lick it in one long stroke. She hisses sharply and my eyes find hers, flashing with humour and lust. “But I’m your nut, Mackenzie Valentine.”

  “Yes,” she agrees, breathless, her eyes rolling back when I find her clit and suck with relentless enthusiasm. “Mine.”

  Freeing my hands from her knees, I stroke my cock and ease the violent ache as I fuck her with my tongue and fingers.

  “Please,” Mac begs, her voice reedy and thin. I love hearing her lose control with me the way she does with no one else. She thinks I’m teasing, but if she came home with that tattoo I’d probably fuck her until my dick chafed raw and then blow my load all over the inked words. I can be a possessive, sordid bastard when I want to be.