by Violet Blaze
“If you agree to end your engagement with that man, I'll support you fully, get as many of my usual donors onboard as I can. We can run with this, Lyric,” Philip says, sounding horribly eager, almost desperate. I open my eyes and glance at him skeptically.
“Is this what you intended? When you hired me, originally, I mean. Did you hope I would take over your seat someday? Or did you want me here because you couldn't stand to see me go?” I watch Philip, my heart pounding as I try not to let myself hope that we're going to have a real father-daughter conversation here. My whole life, it's never happened, so why would it now?
“Please tell me you'll end it,” he says, ignoring my questions completely. “The engagement. If word gets out, we can kiss the party support good-bye.” I sigh and finish my drink, setting it aside on the top of the liquor cabinet, my head spinning at the implications of my father's words.
Mayor of Trinidad, California. Me. Lyric Lenore Rentz.
Fuuuuuudge. Just because I'm tired of saying fuck eighty-five times a day.
Fudge. Fudge, fudge, fudge.
“I love you, Dad,” I tell him, because I do, even if he's an asshole who refuses to acknowledge me as a human being with thoughts and feelings and ideas. I turn to look at Philip and then step forward, wrapping my arms around him like I used to do when I was a kid. He barely looked at me then either, but I kept thinking that if I went to school where he wanted, if I got good grades, if I passed the bar exam, something would change. Someday he'd look at me and he'd beam with pride. “No matter what, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Lyric,” he says, sounding shocked and a little bit confused. His body stiffens as he places one hand on my back and lets me stay there a moment, not holding me but not pushing me away either. “Now, think about what I've said today and we can put together a game plan.”
I purse my lips tight again and stand up straight, nodding briskly before excusing myself from the office.
After Agent Shelley's and my father's surprising announcements, I could seriously use a break.
I debate telling Royal about what my father said.
It shouldn't really matter, but I'm afraid if I say something, he'll assume I'm staying. And I don't want that. I don't exactly know what it is that I do want, but I only have three days to figure it all out.
“You're going to get cancer,” I tell him when I climb out of my car, my heart beating in my throat, my body heating instantly at the sight of the sexy outlaw leaning against the front of his house, smoking a cigarette. “You've gone from smoking casually to chain-smoking all the time. Put that out.”
I snag the smoke from his lips and toss it aside, crushing it with my heel and gasping when he pulls me into his arms and presses a tobacco scented kiss to my lips. My skin thrills with the rough press of his fingerprints against my bare arms, wetness soaking my panties as I feel the hard bulge of his erection through his jeans.
“I love it when you get all bossy,” he says, winking theatrically at me. “Like a right proper old lady.” I take a deep breath and smile softly, my mind straying to the borrowed wedding dress hiding in the back of Royal's guest room's closet. I figured that was the safest place to store it. If he sees it … I just couldn't bear him looking at it until I've officially made my choice. If he does get to see it, I want the first time to be at the courthouse. “Couldn't wait until lunch to see me, Pint-Size?”
“I had a few spare moments,” I say coyly and love the way his muscles tense beneath my touch. When I try to imagine another woman holding him like this, jealously surges through my veins until I feel like I'm seconds away from having an aneurism. It's not his past that bugs me though; I don't care one lick about that. Okay, so maybe one lick … but it's the idea that if I leave, he'll find someone else. Probably lots of someone elses.
Deep breath again.
Fudge.
Peanut butter fudge.
Walnut fudge.
Fudge, fudge, fudge.
Fuck.
Yep. There's no real substitute for it, is there? It feels too good to think, do, say.
“You're gonna need more than a few spare moments with me, love. When I'm around you, I can't seem to stop my cock from solidifying into diamond.”
“Well that's a romantic sentiment,” I joke, but I love what I do to him, love that he can't keep his hands off of me, love that we can fuck all night like hormone ridden teenagers. My last boyfriend could barely get it up once a night, let alone several times. I think Royal McBride is some kind of sex god—although I'm definitely never telling him that. “Any … news?” I ask, regrettably changing the subject as Royal takes my hand and my heart thrills at the cute, gentle touch of his rough, tattooed fingers.
“We went back to Glacier's place today,” he says carefully as he lets me in his front door and I breathe in his smell. The entire house is saturated with Royal's wild scent, and I feel my nipples pebble and harden beneath the chemise. Underneath it, I'm wearing a satin demi-cup in a deep jewel toned purple. I want Royal to unwrap me and discover the surprise.
But first, this. Business for as long as we can take it. Then sex.
“And?” I ask as we pause in the living room and I notice the dogs playing in the backyard through the sliding doors; I smile softly for a second and turn to face him, the expression falling from my lips when I see the downward tilt of his. “What happened?”
Royal's face is dark, mouth tight as he shakes his head.
“The nurse was dead. His throat slit. He'd been fucked up bad first, far beyond Glacier's careful hand.” I cross my arms over my chest as a chill climbs down my spine. Jesus. How awful. Everything right now just seems drenched in blood, like we're living in a true crime thriller or something.
Royal stares at me for a long moment, studying me; I feel like he's judging me.
“You're holding back,” I say, and I try not to sound disappointed as he shakes his head, running his inked hand over his stubbled chin.
“There was a girl we picked up the other day, Dayna Nieves.” Another pause as his rich brown eyes lock onto mine. “Rebecca White's sister. She was gone. Clayton, too.”
My throat gets dry and tight suddenly as I suck in a slow breath.
Holy crap.
“Where do you think they took them?” I ask, trying to puzzle through the clues.
“I don't know, but the transactions on Rebecca's debit card showed her on her way back up here. Why that bloody prat would think it was safe to come back this way is beyond me, but early this morning, after the raid on the house, they stopped completely. Proves Clayton's opened his big mouth and spilled what he knows about us. I should've killed that son of a bitch when I had a chance.”
“What happens next?” I ask, knowing there's a reason Royal stayed up all night with his officers.
“We start the hunt,” he says, and I get the chills. His eyes go cold and emotionless when he says that, like he has to cut himself off from the very idea of it to keep going. Royal is badass, believe me, and he's tough and he's strong, but he's not a bad man. In his core, he's not a violent, evil criminal like my father wants to think. He's a broken man in a bad place. I want to save him from all of it, but I know my only real choice if I want to stay with him is to embrace it. To hug those broken pieces of his soul and hold them together with gentle hands.
That'd be the life I'm choosing if I stay.
“When?” I ask as I take a step toward him and reach down to unbutton my jacket. Royal smiles as he watches my hands move down the row of shiny black buttons.
“Tonight. Glacier's a smart man. He pinned a GPS tracker to Clayton's shoelaces when he was unconscious, just in case he somehow escaped. It's about the size of a key. The fuckers haven't even noticed it yet. We know exactly where they are now.”
“How many of them?” I ask as I shrug my jacket to the floor and step up close to him, feeling my body tremble as he skims his hands down my arms. Everything between us feels frantic and rushed and needy now; I can't stand it
.
“Don't know. At least twenty. Three, four, five times that if we're unlucky.” Deep, rumbling breath as he struggles to keep his hands off of me for another ten seconds or so. “But we can't leave the compound vulnerable and head after their shipment if we have that many rats in our walls.”
“Let me help,” I say, my voice trembling twice as hard as his hands. “Let me do something to make this better. I can tell Agent Shelley. Don't fight on two fronts, Royal. I don't feel good about any of this.”
Without answering, he leans down and captures my mouth in his.
Royal's fingers against my skin poison me against the touch of any other man. I can't imagine someone holding me like this, touching me like this. My breath hitches and stutters and my eyes can't seem to open past half-lidded. I'm dizzy and drunk with need when he tugs my silk chemise out of my skirt and puts his rough hands against the smooth skin of my sides.
He stares down at me with dark, soulful eyes, claiming me with a single look that warms me straight down to my toes. I reach my hands up toward his face, loving my heels for giving me that extra few inches, making it easier for me to wrap my fingers in his hair and kiss him hard, twist our tongues together in a mess of heat and need.
He didn't answer me, which I hate, but hell if I can stop myself from touching him, from letting him touch me.
Royal pulls back for a split second, just long enough to pull my top over my head and toss it onto the back of the couch, putting his hands back on my sides and admiring the curve of purple bra cup as it skims over the smooth, creamy mounds of my breasts.
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs as he lifts his fingers up and I watch the colorful swirl of roses and vines wrap around my tender flesh, kneading with a gentle firmness that takes my breath away. I could live for that touch, those eyes. I know I could. So why am I trying to run from this? But I know it's more than that. So much more. “I've never been a big fan of knickers. Why bother? The whole point is to get them off, right? But you turn it into an art form, Lyric.”
“I want to be on top,” I blurt and feel a slight flush color my cheeks as he grins at me with that magnanimous smile of his. I can almost imagine him in another life, one without danger and strife hiding around every corner, where being together wouldn't mean choosing between one life or another, where we could make all of our choices together.
I really hate this world we live in sometimes.
“A request I'm more than happy to grant,” he says as he reaches behind me and bends low to unzip my skirt, kissing his way down my neck and chest while he does it. The red fabric drops into a pool around my boots as Royal worships the matching purple panties with his fingertips. When he drops his hand inside, I moan and arch my chest into him, relaxing into the touch as his thumb slicks up from the molten heat of my core and teases my clit.
I slide my hands up the hard swells of muscle in his arms, taking great pleasure in the masculine perfection of Royal's body. None of my past boyfriends had a body like this, one that thrilled me through and through at such a simple touch.
I trace my palms over his cut, taking hold of the leather in my fists as he inserts two fingers into my heat and works me with an expert's touch, teasing my G-spot with careful, perfect motions. Each curl of his fingers takes me closer to the edge, my body pulsing and singing around him as I rise onto my toes and arch my back dramatically. I can't help it, can't fight it.
My lips part, seeking his as he leans down into another kiss, his touch much rougher this time, bound by want and desperation. When our lips slant together, I can taste everything he's feeling inside, the hurt and the confusion and the fear. What kind of man will he become if I leave? I want to believe that Royal's strong enough to maintain his integrity without me, but … And anyway, this decision is for me. Nobody else. I can't let those thoughts into my brain.
I squeeze the leather of his vest, press our mouths tight and come hard around his hand, obliterating the thoughts from my brain.
Royal makes a growling sound and slips his hand from my panties, tasting his fingers and licking his lips as he looks at me like a wolf studying his mate.
“Where?” I ask, because we've fucked all over this house: the bearskin rug in front of the fire, the dinner table, on his bike in the garage, in the backyard on the porch swing, in the shower, on his bed. Where else is there to go?
“Guest room,” he says without hesitation, grabbing me around the waist as I leap into his arms and he holds me up by the ass. I weigh almost nothing to him, and I find that sexy as hell. “You're going to ride me on that old ass fucking chaise like a goddamn lord.”
“Oh am I? The American Princess with the mysterious British Nobleman.”
Royal snorts.
“Yeah, I like that. I like it. Run with it, baby.”
He sweeps us into the room, and I swear to God, I can feel that wedding dress staring at me from inside the closet. I ignore it which is actually pretty easy to do considering that after setting me on my feet, Royal's shrugging off his cut and yanking his shirt over his head.
Raw and Dirty, the words stare at me from his chest as Royal leans back on the red velvet chaise that I've been admiring since I first saw it. He says he had it shipped over when his Gram passed away, and that it's old as hell. I think it's a fucking antique that he should get appraised. I feel a little guilty using it this way.
When I climb onto his lap, I get an almost perfect view of his face.
The way the chaise is curved in the back leaves Royal leaning away from me, a small pillow behind his head. With me on his lap like this, I find I can lean forward and kiss him much more easily than usual. Yes. Shortness life hack.
“This is amazing,” I whisper as his hands cup my ass and he encourages me to grind against his jeans. Our mouths meet again, slick and hot and greedy. I could live a million years and never get tired of his kisses, of the way he holds me, like I'm strong and delicate both at the same time. It's adorable and he doesn't even know it.
My body moves in a natural rhythm, pressing my hot, wet heat to his jeans, just a thin layer of satin hiding the swollen desperation of my core from Royal—thank God I changed that tampon out for a panty liner. He takes my hips in his hands and relaxes into the chaise as I lean forward, my hands on his hard belly, our eyes locked. I bite my lower lip hard to gain some semblance of control, wake my brain up a little.
“Let me help,” I whisper again as I push my crotch hard to his. “Let me talk to Agent Shelley.”
“The boys would never go for that,” he says, his accent thick as hell and so sexy I could melt. All of his hard Rs sound like uhs, and all his short As sound like ers. It's … amazing.
I keep moving, knowing that I'm cheating a little by purposely twisting up his brain, but I can't help it.
“Royal, I love you too much to see you gunned down by a violent gang.”
“Love, I hate to tell you this,” he growls as he grabs my ass rough enough to bruise, making me groan dramatically. “But I am the leader of a violent gang.”
“Don't do this to me,” I say as I smack his chest and squeeze my thighs tight, trapping him in my grip as he kneads my ass hard and grits his teeth at me. “I can't lose you like that.”
“But you'd walk away, yeah? You'd fly off into the sunset and marry some uptight motherfucking twat in a business suit, shag him and have his babies in some McMansion in Washington, D.C.”
“If that's what you think, then you don't really know me very well at all, do you? If this doesn't work for me, then … I'm marrying my career, Royal. Don't you get that? It's not between you and some mystery guy. It's you. I've chosen you.”
“Jesus,” he breathes, grabbing the back of my head and kissing me so hard that it hurts. I taste blood between us and gasp against his lips as he fumbles between us with his other hand and frees his cock. I know I'm tempting fate here, but I just don't care about going for a condom. I reach between us and push my panties aside, guide him to my opening and breathe out, long an
d low. It's like I have to clear all the air from my body to make room for the long, thick length of him between my thighs. “Say it again for me, Pint-Size.”
“You're mine,” I tell him as I slide slowly down his shaft, covering him with the heat of my desire, the proof of my love right there in the physical. “I've picked you.”
“You're it for me,” he says suddenly as he cups my face in a rough hand, rubbing his thumb over my swollen lips. “My girl. My old lady.” Tears prick my eyes as we kiss again, and I gasp a little as our bodies make contact, his cock sheathed fully inside of me. Royal drops one hand to my pushed aside purple panties and takes hold of the flimsy satin fabric, tearing them away with an abrupt snapping sound and tossing them aside.
His hands settle on my hips and I begin to move, grinding and rolling my pelvis in time with his breathing, with the way his grip tightens and the muscles in his neck stand out with the strain of holding back.
“I need to tell you to go, but all I want to do is beg you to stay,” he whispers, making my heart beat faster and louder and crazier. It's erratic and weird and I'm so full of emotion that my breath hitches and my muscles clench tight, making Royal growl and lift his hips up off the chaise to meet mine. “Oh, Lyric …” His voice trails off into a rough sound of pleasure as he lets his head fall back and I curl my hands around his shoulders.
The tears dry on my cheeks as I move with a purpose, loving the way his body twitches and tightens beneath me, his eyes closed in ecstasy, hands locked onto my hips. I press my fingertips into his deltoid muscles and grind hard, taking control of Royal McBride, the President of the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle.
With every movement of my hips, I'm more certain of what I have to do.
First, I have to save him from himself.
And then, then I have to leave.
When Royal comes hard beneath, in me, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds he makes, locking my thighs tight, keeping him sheathed in my heat until he stops moving and his breathing evens out, hands falling away from my hips, palms skimming down the tops of my thighs.
