9
Van
Neco’s fingers flew across his computer keyboard.
I wasn’t waiting for the police to work their way through miles of red tape. “You nearly in?”
“Almost.”
He hit several more keys and live footage of the CCTV camera outside London’s shop popped up onscreen.
“A few more minutes and I’ll have access to what it got this morning.” Neco glanced at London. “What time did you discover the package?”
“Around one,” she said.
Her voice was soft, a little husky, broken. It killed me. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but I intended to find out, whatever it took.
“Got it,” Neco said.
Erin said the package was delivered while London was out to lunch, and after a brief conversation with Daniels a few minutes ago we knew the thing hadn’t been delivered by any courier. Which meant the person who was behind it had also delivered it. I fucking hoped so anyway.
Neco fast-forwarded the footage until we found what we wanted.
We watched as a guy walked into London’s store, wearing a dark jacket and blue ball cap. His hair was blond underneath. A few minutes ticked by then he rushed out. His face was blurred. Not as clear as I would have liked. “Can you enhance that?”
“I can try,” Neco said as the footage continued to run. “You want to see any more?”
“Let’s watch until London comes back. He could be watching, could be in the crowd somewhere.” It wouldn’t surprise me. That was all part of it for sick fucks like this. Seeing the terror, the pain they caused their target.
Neco fast-forwarded a little more until London came on the screen. I froze.
She was walking hand in hand with Daniels. He was smiling down at her. I couldn’t see her face.
London stilled beside me.
They stopped outside the store, and Daniels was talking as he looked down at her. Neco’s chair squeaked as he shifted, sensing the change in the room. I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off the screen as Detective fucking Daniels leaned in and kissed her, brief but sure, possessive.
And London let him.
What the fuck was this?
No, I had no right to be pissed, but yeah, I wanted to maim the fucker. Tear his motherfucking face off for touching her.
“Let me know if you manage to enhance that picture,” I said to Neco, keeping my voice as even as I could, and motioned for a red-faced London to head for the exit. She rushed out the door ahead of me, and we made our way down to my car in the parking garage.
When she climbed in the passenger seat and I shut her in, I took a moment to get my head on straight. It didn’t work. I didn’t want Connor anywhere near London, I knew that much. I didn’t want him touching her and I sure as fuck didn’t want him kissing her.
An image of her, lips parted, flushed, riding my fingers, crying out as she came for me invaded my head, like it had the last couple of days, and I had to grit my teeth against the growl of frustration crawling up my throat. The urge to hunt Daniels down and beat the fuck out of him for putting his filthy hands on her was almost too strong to fight. I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.
Somehow I managed it, and instead of hunting Connor down and ending him, I climbed into the car and headed for my apartment. “You can stay with me,” I said with a bit more force than was warranted, because I knew what my problem was, what I was feeling, and I didn’t fucking like it, not one damn bit.
I was jealous.
Not something I’d ever experienced before. “We’ll get your things tomorrow.” I didn’t want to risk taking her to her place, not without backup, not without knowing who was involved in this.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
The rest of the drive was silent, and I used the time to regain my control.
After we’d parked and I’d led her into the elevator, she turned to me. “If you’d rather I didn’t stay here—”
“I want you here,” I said, voice like I was gargling nails.
“You’re upset with me,” she said.
Yeah, I wasn’t surprised she’d picked up on my mood. I was usually pretty good at hiding what I was thinking or feeling, but not as much when I was around London, apparently. I felt like an asshole.
I turned to her, shaking my head. “Not pissed at you. I’m pissed at myself.”
She frowned. “What? Why?”
The elevator slid open and I led her down the hall to my place, opening the door and letting us in.
I dumped my keys on the table in the hall and she followed me into the living room.
“Has this got something to do with Connor?” she said.
I turned to her. “You two on a first-name basis these days, London?”
Jesus, I needed to rein it in.
She colored and I felt like an even bigger asshole. “There’s nothing going on between Connor and me.”
I ran my fingers though my hair. “He kissed you, babe. I saw that shit with my own eyes.” She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. No way did I want to hear the details of their budding romance. “If you’d rather stay with him…”
Her chin jerked back. “We’re not…I don’t…” She stood straighter, hands fisting at her sides. “You said you didn’t want anything more with me than that one night. Connor asked me to lunch and I…I wanted something to…” She glanced out the window. “To look forward to, I guess. I’ve spent a long time wanting things I can’t have, Van. I’ve wasted a lot of time. He’s a nice man and I wanted to…want him. I really did.” Her gaze came back to me. “I let him kiss me because I wanted to feel something, something close to what I felt when you kissed me. After everything that’s been happening, I just wanted to feel alive.”
“London—”
“But there was nothing there. We both knew it.” She hugged herself. “You probably don’t care, but I wanted you to know that.”
“I care,” I said, surprised by my own words, but with the way relief was pumping through me I knew it was the truth. I cared all right, too fucking much. “But goddammit, that changes nothing. I’m still not the man you need.”
Her eyes flashed and my cock surged, pumping full of blood so hard and fast I felt fucking light-headed.
“You’re assuming you know what I need, what I want. Yes, I’m shy and struggle with certain situations, but I’m not stupid and I’m not some romantic fool. Have I asked you for more? Have I given you any indication that a relationship is what I want from you?”
She was right, of course. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, telling her the truth and my biggest fear.
Her eyes stayed locked on mine. “I’ve been stabbed five times and survived. You think I can’t survive you?” She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about the future. I just want to live, now, this moment. I want to take whatever good comes my way, however long it lasts, and embrace it. And when it’s over, move on, open and ready to accept whatever good thing comes my way next. That’s it. That’s what I want. That’s all I want.”
She meant what she said. There was no missing the truth in her beautiful eyes. I was strong, had resisted her as best as I could for as long as I could, but I wasn’t that fucking strong.
“And right now, that good thing is me?” I said, voice wrecked, because I sure as fuck hadn’t been anyone’s good anything in my whole damn life.
I watched as London braced, like she was preparing for battle, but yeah, she’d already won. I was done fighting.
“I want to be with you while I’m here, until this is all over. I don’t want you to hold back, and I don’t want you to be noble. You don’t need to protect my feelings. I know what I want, and nothing will change my mind.” She licked her lips nervously, watching me, waiting for my answer.
I shrugged out of my jacket, tossing it aside. “We better make the most of the time we have, then,” I said and strode toward her.
* * *
London
He reached me and wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the floor easily, big hands cupping my butt. “Wrap your legs around me.”
I did and my arms went around his neck.
He pressed his face against my throat, breathing me in. “Christ, woman, I want you.”
“Then have me,” I said breathlessly.
He lifted his head and grinned, and it was wicked and sexy as hell. He strode down the hall, carrying me to his bedroom, and using his boot, pushed the door open. He dropped me on the mattress and came down on top of me, covering me with his hard body.
His gaze moved over my face, to my hair spread out over his pillow.
“Fuck, I love your hair.” His gaze dropped. “Love this sexy mouth as well.” His lips came down on mine instantly, hungrily, and he kissed me hard and deep, not even trying to hold back his hunger for me.
It was perfect.
His hands went to the bottom of my shirt, his rough-skinned fingers brushing my belly before he tugged it up. He broke our kiss as he pulled it over my head and flung it aside. I hadn’t expected the swift move.
Van stilled, staring down at me.
Oh God. My hands automatically shot up, covering my exposed skin. I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for the gasp, the sympathy, or worse, the horror and disgust.
I’d learned to live with the scars on my body, but I knew they’d be shocking to anyone else. Van made me forget. Being around him, wanting him, I’d actually forgotten that being with him meant him seeing the aftermath of my attack. Seeing the ugly scars that had been left behind.
I tried to get up. “Let me put my top back on.”
Van pinned me to the mattress with his body. “Look at me, London.”
I’d turned away, staring at the wall across from me.
“Look at me,” he said and gently took my chin, forcing me look up at him.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“You’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”
“I know what they look like. They’re ugly.”
His expression turned fierce. “They’re not ugly to me.”
He kissed the one at the front of my shoulder and I flinched. I shook my head, but he did it again.
“There’s not one thing about you that isn’t beautiful to me. You may hate these scars, but I fucking love them, every single one.”
“What?”
“These are battle scars. Proof that you survived. You have no idea how glad I am that you did. None. So, yeah, to me they are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
I lay there speechless as he kissed every one, my shoulders, chest, ribs, taking his time. I shivered with every brush of his soft lips coasting over my oversensitized skin until I was shaking, aching between my thighs in a way I never knew was possible.
Van finally rose, and his hands went to mine, which had moved back to my chest unconsciously. He pulled them away, gently but firmly, and lifted them over my head, pinning them there with one of his. The other dropped to the front clasp of my bra, and he snapped it open. My breasts spilled free and his molten stare dropped from mine, slid down to my chest, and his nostrils flared like some kind of wild animal. I squirmed.
“Fucking hell, London,” he muttered.
One of his hands wrapped around the side of my breast firmly, and then he was sucking my nipple into the heat of his mouth. I cried out as one of his heavy thighs slid between my legs.
The onslaught sent sparks of pleasure firing all through my body, and it wasn’t long before I started rubbing up against him, desperate for more friction.
Van didn’t let up, teasing my nipples, gentle bites, licks, sucking me into his mouth until I was panting and squirming, scars forgotten.
He let go of my wrist, his hands going to the top of my pants and he popped the button and slid down the zipper, tugging them down my legs. He flung them aside as well. He lifted to his knees, reached back, and dragged his shirt off, throwing it to the floor. My gaze dropped to his cock. It was obscenely hard behind the zipper of his jeans and made me moan softly. I wanted to reach out and touch it. Take him out of his jeans and feel him in my hands.
I’d dreamed so many times about him sliding inside me, what that would feel like. My magic bullet and my fingers got me off but never left me fully satisfied. I wanted to know what Van felt like moving inside my body, hard and demanding.
His hand dropped to my belly then lower between my spread thighs. His thumb brushed over my damp underwear, the fabric covering my clit. I rolled my hips, the action involuntary, seeking more, chasing more of that pressure, knowing what it could do, how he could make me feel.
His eyes stayed on mine as he slid his fingers down the sides of my underwear and dragged them down my legs. He dropped them to the floor as well, and his gaze slid down to my bared flesh.
“Christ, you’re so damn gorgeous, London. You have no idea, do you, how fucking sexy you are?” he rumbled.
No, I did not. But right then I felt it. For the first time, I felt it.
“Gotta taste you, sweetheart,” he said and trailed sucking kisses from between my breasts down over my stomach.
He slid down between my legs.
I tried to jam them shut.
He glanced up at me.
I mean, I wanted him to. I really wanted him to. My face heated again.
“You don’t want my mouth on you?” he asked, expression giving away nothing but curiosity, maybe even concern.
That was the last thing I wanted. “No, I want that. I definitely want that,” I said. “I’ve just never…had that.”
His brows lowered. “No one’s ever gone down on you?” he growled, looking pissed on my behalf, angry at my nonexistent sexual partners for not pleasuring me like I deserved.
I didn’t tell him the truth, though. No, I just shook my head.
“But you want me to?”
I nodded.
His eyes were bright, hungry, as he put his hands on my knees that were still clamped together and applied a little pressure. He glanced up at me again when they stayed that way and licked his lips, like he couldn’t wait to taste me. “Babe, you want it, you gotta let me in.”
Let me in.
I shivered and that pulse inside me got more urgent. I took a steadying breath, unclamped my thighs, and I let him in. I lay there exposed, wide open, and watched as Van took all of that in. All of me in. Watched as he dropped a hand to that huge bulge in his jeans and adjusted himself.
He gave it a rough squeeze and groaned. “Fuck me,” he said under his breath.
His mouth made contact with my pussy a second later, and I gasped, trying to clamp my thighs closed again while at the same time fisting his hair and holding him there. He growled against me and gently sucked on my clit before flicking it with his tongue.
I cried out and rolled my hips. “Oh God.”
His hands went to my butt and he held my cheeks in his big hands as he licked and sucked, kissed my pussy until I was panting and frantically moving beneath him.
That’s when he slid a finger inside me. I arched and cried out. He dragged it out then slid it back in several times before adding another. He found that spot inside me and stayed deep with his fingers, concentrating on it, while his thumb slid over my clit. The pressure started building.
“Christ, London, you’re so tight, sweetheart, so fucking hot.”
It broke suddenly and I started coming, screaming out his name in total abandon, riding his fingers in a way I didn’t even know I knew how to do.
When the last of the pleasure pulsed through me I blinked my eyes open. Van was staring down at me, expression so fierce and heated I didn’t know what to say. Which was fine since I wasn’t sure I was capable of speech.
He rolled to his side, shucked off his jeans and boxers, and yanked open the bedside drawer. I watched as he pulled out a condom, tore it open, and rolled it down his incredibly long, thick cock. I swallowed the lump in my throat when he moved back between my thighs, coming
down on top of me.
His mouth slid across mine, sucking my lips, tongue delving deep and slow and perfect. I felt the tip of his cock at my entrance. The head pushed inside, stretching me. Van lifted to his hands and looked down between our bodies, then back into my eyes…and he thrust inside me.
I cried out, unable to hold it in. The shock of it, the way he felt inside me, the fullness, the hardness of him. So hard.
He held still, face strained as I spasmed and fluttered around him, adjusting.
“Look at me, London,” Van said, voice incredibly rough.
* * *
Van
She stared up at me, eyes bright, lips parted, and the woman took my fucking breath away.
Christ.
I’d known, hadn’t I? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d known. If I hadn’t been tipped off by the sweet, unschooled, and sexy-as-fuck way she’d kissed me back, or the fact that no one had ever gone down on her—the look of surprise when I slid home had. Not to mention the way she moved a little awkwardly beneath me, not one hundred percent sure what she should do.
Her pussy gripped me so tight. I could feel her clutching at me, adjusting to having me inside her. It was making me fucking crazy. I wanted to let loose, fuck her hard and deep.
Sweat beaded on my forehead from the strain of holding back.
“Wrap your legs around my hips,” I rasped. “That’s it, sweetheart.” I reached down, lifted her ass higher, and finally started to move, holding her where I wanted her, taking her like I’d wanted to for so damn long.
There was no pain, just pleasure in her eyes, transforming her expression as I slid out then slowly filled her again. She clung to me and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Everything she was feeling was written on her face.
I started to move faster, thrusting harder, because there was no damn way I could hold back any longer. She whimpered, the sound hitting me in the balls. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, little nails scoring my skin. The bite of pain turned me on even more.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” she cried out.
She didn’t need to worry about that. The way she gripped me like a vise, how perfect she felt, made me want to stay where I was, planted deep inside her for the rest of my life.
Merciless King (Lawless Kings, #5) Page 10
