Unchained

by Suzanne Halliday

  After that, there were more shots and more unchained wickedness as they played out their insatiable desires. She told him they needed a sex swing. He promised to take her anal virginity—one of these days. She begged him to let her deep throat him—and that was when he released on her face. He used her gently, roughly, sweetly, and with a vigor that made her cry out. He’d also quite drunkenly torn through her bag until he found the vibrating silver bullet he enjoyed torturing her with and then got serious about doing exactly that. Her poor clit. It was a wonder she and it survived.

  And she looked every inch of all that and then some.

  Turning off the water in the sink, she sighed with resignation and stepped into the large tile shower. This required more than a quick washcloth and some toothpaste.

  Why was there a freight train moving through the room? And what the fuck was that sound?

  One eye cracked open and then the other.

  The sound happened again. Drae’s head turned slowly toward the racket and saw his phone vibrating as it rang.

  “Fucking piece of shit,” he muttered. Fumbling, he eventually grabbed hold and picked it up. He peered at the screen, but his head was too muddled to make sense of anything. Switching the damn thing off, he tossed it away and heard it slide across the carpet. Then he slumped back down and flung the crook of his arm over his eyes to block out the light.

  After a minute or so, his free hand moved to the empty space beside him. He turned his head, moved his arm, and peeked at the pillow where he expected to find his wife’s head.

  She wasn’t there. Drae took a deep breath and tried to focus. Listening intently, he noted the silence and then heard the faint sound of the shower running. Oh, good. She was up and getting dressed. That meant he had a few minutes to get his shit together.

  As he lay there contemplating how to go about doing just that, Drae effortlessly fell back to sleep, oblivious to everything except how exhausted he was.

  No sense in pretending. She was a little bit shaky at the moment. That’s what you get for being a sloppy drunk, her inner dialogue scolded.

  Word.

  Putting something simple into her stomach was priority one. Right after getting dressed. Pulling a slinky sundress off a hangar, Tori slipped it over her head and watched in the mirror as it fell to her knees in a fluid ripple. Thin straps and a sweetheart neckline gave the clingy fabric a feminine edge she liked. Draegyn might grumble about going braless, but he’d just have to suck it up. He’d done a real number on her boobs. Even the thought of slight constriction anywhere near her chest was a no.

  Bending forward, she used a towel to vigorously massage her scalp and wring as much water from her hair as possible. Since handling a hair dryer seemed like way too much effort, she opted instead for the loose curls she’d end up with just by using her fingers and scrunching it up as it air-dried.

  More digging in her bag and she pulled out a sensible pair of panties and her favorite perfume. Her mama always said there was nothing like a healthy spritz of some lush and feminine scent to straighten out a gal’s mood. She positioned the spray and let loose with a cloud of Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue. It was the perfect summer scent and went a long way to making her feel halfway normal.

  Plodding barefoot from the dressing room after sliding on some underwear and giving herself a quick mirror check, Tori almost face planted when she tripped and did a circus dance to keep from falling after her foot encountered Draegyn’s cell phone. What the hell was it doing on the floor?

  Jumping a half-mile when it vibrated in her hand, she turned it over and glanced at the screen. Carol was calling.

  She took a couple of steps toward the bed and then stumbled to a halt.

  Carol. Was calling.

  She glared at the phone through narrowed eyes.

  Who the fuck was Carol?

  Sorely tempted to hurl the damn thing at Draegyn’s head, she stopped the rash act but stood there frozen as anger and humiliation made her shake from head to toe.

  They were off the communication grid for the long weekend. It was one of her absolutes—one of the things she laid down as a condition before they left for the airport. Nobody in Family Justice would bother them unless it was a total emergency. Whoever this Carol was, she wasn’t part of Justice. And if she wasn’t, then this was a personal call.

  Someone named Carol was calling her husband while they were off having a romantic getaway. The hunger and need for food she felt moments earlier was replaced by a sick feeling roiling about inside.

  ALEX WAS DOG tired from being trapped in a nonstop briefing that started when he arrived at NSA headquarters earlier that morning and dragged on until twilight.

  His head was humming from everything he’d learned and a cloying sense of unease hung on and wouldn’t let go.

  Drumming his fingers absently on the armrest in the back of the heavily fortified SUV driving him to his hotel, he considered the facts before him and concluded what he knew was the only outcome possible. At some point in the not-so-distant future, he was going to end up on the fucking ground in the Middle East and nothing, absolutely nothing, could have thrilled him less.

  As the lights of D.C.’s early evening traffic moved past his window, he swallowed hard a couple of times and sighed.

  When they asked him to look over an operations plan for a black site project, he knew right away where it all would lead. His technical savvy and expertise were a key link in the chain. Nothing he said, nor any argument he launched, made any difference. They were one step ahead and ready for every objection he had. Including that he wasn’t in tiptop combat shape. Not with his injuries affecting him the way they still did.

  Basically, that argument got laughed into a corner. He’d probably never been in better shape than he was right now despite the dozen pounds he’d acquired during his honeymoon. And they knew it. Hell—those fuckers knew everything.

  A dull throb started behind his eye. Meghan. Meghan would make it better.

  A few minutes later, he was making his way to their room as he loosened his tie, contemplating how to handle explaining to her what was most likely going to happen.

  The last week had been sheer hell. Delayed in D.C., she knew something was up but went out of her way to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. Tonight, he was finally going to have to fill her in—especially now that he knew a few things Drae, Parker, and Calder had managed to keep from him.

  She wasn’t going to be happy. Hell, he wasn’t happy. Not happy at all about just how much had been kept from him. It was Calder who rather bluntly reminded him that he’d asked them all to parse the information Meghan was privy to while they were away. They’d agreed, he told Alex, because of the case he made about their honeymoon being the only time when it had ever been or would ever be just the two of them. Apparently, a little of his own medicine was applied, and his band of brothers decided what he did and didn’t need to know.

  That was yesterday. This was today, and now, he knew chapter and verse of the insane fuckery and troubles happening at home.

  The tantalizing aroma of an Italian feast greeted him as the door to their suite opened. He heard his wife singing and smiled when he heard her belting out Adele’s “Love Song.”

  He shucked off his suit coat and went to her. Coming up from behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against him swaying to the sexy song as she continued to growl out the lyrics.

  Turning in his embrace, she wrapped her arms around his neck and softly sang the song to the end, kissed him with those sweet lips he’d never get enough of, and huskily murmured, “Mine.”

  She always knew what to say and what to do. He grabbed a handful of her ass. “Yours.” Then he whipped her around, bent her over the table, pulled up her dress, and yanked her panties out of the way so he could kiss the distinctive ink on her ass. “Mine,” he breathed against her skin.

  Carefully and soberly righting her panties and lowering her dress, he spun her back aro
und and stared into her bewitching green eyes.

  “Yours.”

  “We need to talk,” he told her solemnly.

  “I know. But you need to eat first, my love. Dinner is ready.”

  God sent him the perfect mate when this big-hearted redhead burst into his life and changed everything with her beautiful smile and knowing ways.

  “Been slaving in the kitchen, have you?” he teased.

  It was a well-known fact that his wonderful bride could do almost anything she set her mind to. Except cook. She was a horrendous cook. Oh, he snickered internally, she’d been a fast learner when it came to throwing together a tapas feast worthy of a magazine spread, but all that joking around about making brisket was pure fantasy. Anything beyond heat ‘n’ serve and he needed some antacid and a barf bag.

  “Lucky for you,” she told him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, “a whole bevy of big-time restaurants are around here just waiting to deliver everything from soup to nuts.”

  Dinner was a pleasant interlude—she made sure of it. Careful to steer him away from any serious talk, they laughed, stuffed their faces, concocted a bunch of tall tales to share with everyone when they got home, and most of all, they relaxed. If his woman only taught him one thing, it was that we only had the guarantee of right now. Worrying about the past and stressing over things that hadn’t happened yet only robbed the present of its inherent perfection.

  Much later, after they were cuddling on the sofa, she finally cleared the deck for a more serious talk.

  “Give it to me slowly.”

  He chuckled and leered at her for good measure, quipping, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “Major Marquez,” she mockingly chided. “I know you’ve got plenty to be proud of but must everything be about your dick?”

  “Love it when you talk dirty, baby.”

  She quirked a lopsided grin and muttered, “Sheesh.” Pouting prettily, she gave him back some of his cheekiness. “I was going to sit on your lap, but now, I don’t know.”

  Alex’s delighted laughter filled the air. “You’re turning into quite a negotiator,” he told her dryly.

  “Learned from the best.” She patted his chest and waggled her brows. “Now, stop changing the subject.”

  He pulled her closer with an arm around her shoulder. She stayed silent and let him sift through his thoughts until he settled on the first thing she needed to know.

  “The Secret Service went to Arizona and took Cam for a high-level rescue mission. He’s been gone for weeks, and they’ve had no significant contact with him.”

  Meghan was in shock. It was the only way to explain how she felt. As Alex slowly unburdened a raft of unbelievable shit into her lap, it was all she could do to remain passive and mostly silent.

  She’d known all along he was keeping things from her, but from everything he’d revealed, she understood pretty quickly that he’d also been kept in the dark about an awful lot.

  Cameron was out of the compound, and Lacey was by herself.

  Parker and Angie were Parker and Angie. She, of course, was driving him crazy, and he, of course, loved every second of it. Their house would be finished soon and then hopefully Parker would get off his ass and make their engagement official with a ring and a date. Meghan tried not to react. Poor Alex. Didn’t he realize that Parker wasn’t the foot dragger? She didn’t doubt it was Angelina leading the exasperated Counselor around by his nose. Or his dick. One or both of those things were true.

  And then a grenade named Finn blew up in her face. Jesus god. Finn was in Arizona after her exasperated parents banished him from Boston. All of a sudden, it made sense why her folks came to Washington instead of she and Alex relaxing with the family at home. Something twisted inside her. A bit of ill humor mixed with some Irish temper. Her little brother was a major pain in the ass. Thanks, Ma, she thought. Talk about the honeymoon being over. Shit! Dealing with him was sure to be a drag.

  Stephanie and Calder were engaged. That she did know about, but in the telling, she picked up on something else. Something Alex with all his masculine ways wasn’t aware of. Girl stuff. Meghan made a mental note to check into Stephanie’s well-being. She had some new recipes for essential oil blends that might be helpful if she was having female problems.

  Heather and Brody made it to Arizona. Not exactly a surprise, but she sure was glad to hear they were moving forward as a couple. It was finding out about Brody’s daughter, though, that blew her mind. First, that he had one, second, that Alex and the boys had known about it and helped locate her, and third, that he had full custody of a five-year-old. Holy shit.

  And Gus. Oh, my god. She almost started to cry hearing that Gus left the Villa. His daughter’s family was falling apart. Her husband had succumbed to the illness ravaging him, and Gus felt he had no choice but to pack up and go help. When Meghan got all weepy and begged Alex to do something, he quickly assured her that he and the boys had quietly settled the grieving family’s debts and even paid off the mortgage on the daughter’s house and set up college funds for her kids.

  She’d nearly lost her temper during that part of the conversation because she was annoyed and frustrated that something so big was kept from her. Alex smoothly explained how Gus knew where things were going the last time they were all together in Boston for the wedding. He strong-armed Drae and Cam not to tell Alex, and by the time he was aware of the situation, changes were already in motion.

  Knowing Alex was also in the dark made her feel somewhat better. But not much.

  She was fully unprepared for his next round of bombshells. The first one so startling, she barely heard anything he said after. It seemed his dad recently let loose with a plan he was putting together for his retirement.

  Retirement! She heard the wonder in her husband’s voice. The notion of his dad retiring and turning the family winery over to someone else was a wild card he hadn’t seen coming. Not only that—the plan was for Ashleigh and Cristián to spend part of the year in Arizona. Parker’s parents were busily renovating Alex’s grandparents’ old house in Sedona for a home base. The rest of the time, they planned to travel with the Sullivans. There was talk of buying an RV. She giggled and then got deadly serious when Alex frowned at her. His over-the-top reaction to the news was just so damn funny.

  Even more shocking, however, was the astonishing news that Uncle Eduardo already had one foot out the priesthood door due to a health issue. Nothing serious but he was told to slow the fuck down, a request which triggered the idea of retiring. The church wasn’t about to lose someone like him, so somehow, somewhere, someway, the powers that be hooked him up as a visiting professor that would allow him to teach at some pretty impressive universities. In short, his home base would be in California, and he would travel by semester depending on his assignments.

  After the parade of reveals and her reactions, they sat quietly for a bit as Meghan processed this new information. Slowly, it dawned on her that he’d said next to nothing about Drae and Tori.

  The sound of Alex’s phone soon invaded the quiet. She’d changed the ringer to play Darth Vader music and then laughed every time she heard it go off. To his credit, he hadn’t changed it. Yet. But he did roll his eyes as often as he could. She wondered if his high-level contacts in D.C. had heard the amusing ringtone and what their reaction had been.

  He fished the phone from his pocket and looked to see who was calling. A frown marred his handsome face.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Went straight to voicemail,” he murmured.

  “Do you have to take it? It’s okay if you do. I set the massage table up in the bedroom. You can take your call, and I’ll go get things ready.”

  She grabbed his chin and made him look at her. “Don’t even try to pretend you’re all right. I know better, Major. Let’s get you straightened out, okay?”

  He smiled and kissed her tenderly, then sat back and looked into her eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he nodded
to himself. She wondered what he was thinking.

  “Thank you,” he said. “It’s been a rough week.”

  Patting his knee, she stood up and held out her hand for him to take. “Come on, husband. Life is catching up with us. Time to shift gears.”

  He slung an arm across her shoulders, and she hugged him around the waist as they walked toward the bedroom. Giving her a quirky smirk, he kissed her lips twice and told her in that voice he saved for playtime, “How about after you loosen me up, we loosen you up too?”

  She shivered with pure delight. Ooh, she knew what that meant and seriously—she almost jumped him right then. What could sound more appealing than a good, deep massage followed by a therapeutic flogging? As a twofer, nothing came close. By the end of a massage, she was usually drained and limp as a noodle from the effort. Sometimes, her hands went numb. They’d discovered that she was especially responsive to one of her husband’s sexy floggings when she was done in. He was so good at it. The rhythmic thuds as he brushed the custom flogger against her skin. The way her senses soared with each swing of his arm.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched the reaction play out across her face. It didn’t do any good to hide her feelings. He saw right through it.

  “Ah. I see my Irish Fuck Goddess just showed up,” he teased with a deep chuckle.

  “I wanted this to be about you, baby,” she pouted. The pout was practiced and perfected. She’d seen her mother use the ploy a hundred million times, and Alex loved every lip tremble and flirty boohoo.

  The leering grin he gave her was one hundred percent pure alpha.

  “Consider it my happy ending. I’ll be hard as stone when you’re finished using those hands on my body. Throw in a Double M flogging and you’re in for one hell of a fucking.”