by Rie Warren
God, Tilly.
If I heard her splashing in the bath . . . If I knew she was naked . . . Wet and warm . . .
“Go ahead, get in.” My voice broke.
I turned my back, my hands creasing the front of my pants.
Her clothing dropped, the hushed whisper of fabric setting me on edge.
I swallowed when the bathwater splashed, knowing she must’ve settled into the clear warmth of the tub.
“Tilly”—my voice was hoarse—“this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
Every part of me hungered for her. To comfort. To hold. To love and make love and move upon her, inside her.
“You can look. You can get in too.” She reached out, and her damp hand whisked over mine, but I resolutely remained turned in the other direction.
“I’ll want you too much.” My throat locked tight. “I want you too much already.”
The water settled as if she stilled. I turned to stone, standing motionlessly, listening intently, trying to ignore the straining formation of my cock in my pants.
The water started to splash and drip behind me. I wondered about washing her hair, lifting it from her back, her neck, and kissing that small hollow at the nape. Clouds of moist air billowed toward me along with the scents of shampoo and soap and a bubbling noise.
Had she kneeled up to wash her legs and the sweetness between?
I was going to break.
Tilly was going to break me in two.
I knew that.
She already had.
With a hoarse groan, I reached a shaking hand for the doorknob again.
“Don’t go,” she whispered softly. “Please. I know I’m a strong woman, but today . . . I was terrified, Justice. I’m terrified.”
I bent my forehead against the door, rubbing my head back and forth as if I could erase the images conjured by her in the bath. “I’ll stay.”
Every second was sheer torture. Sweat broke out across my brow. My cock knew no bounds, the tight pants only increasing my torment. Water spilled onto the floor, lapping against the soles of my boots.
Tilly, Tilly, please hurry!
The bath started draining. A towel snapped. She appeared next to me, damp and soft and still pale.
“Your turn,” she said, wedging a knot in the towel between her breasts.”
“Not with you in here.” My jaw clamped hard.
“I don’t want to be alone. Please.” She touched my chest.
Didn’t she know I’d seen all her curves just hours ago and I wanted them in my hands and under my lips again? Didn’t she understand she was terrified, and I was terrifically turned on? Adrenaline and death. The need to feel life and the fuel of sex.
Sex. Fucking. Fucking her. The only balm. The perfect release.
“Turn around,” I gruffly ordered.
I wouldn’t be able to contain myself if I caught her watching me.
She turned her back. I stripped off. Behind the thin curtain, I switched on the shower and doused my head. Blessed hot water ran down my body.
Tilly stood just beyond the shower. Every part of my body strained for her.
Blood and dirt and dust whorled to the holes of the drain. It filtered away on suds and soap and water.
After a cursory wash, I blasted the water to cold, and exited with a towel around my hips, shivering.
Tilly had dressed in sweats and a tank top. Her hair crinkled in the way I liked. Wavy and untamed.
She looked at my dripping chest.
I craved her touch. Her body. Her beauty.
Her solace.
I gulped then stalked into the other room. I whipped off the towel and quickly pulled on some pants that appeared to be relatively clean.
All the while I felt Tilly’s unwavering gaze searing my skin, inflaming it like a caress until goose bumps prickled all up and down my spine.
Closing my eyes, I counted to ten. And then to twenty. I passed Tilly again, tossing the wadded up towel into the bathroom. Crossing back to the bed, I tucked a gun at my waist and laid the other on the rickety little table bearing an ancient looking lamp.
When I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I faced Tilly. Her green eyes rose to mine. Her cheeks heated. I thought she’d been studying my back and my shoulders, my arms. The tattoo. Her glance swerved to my lips then to my chest, which filled with a ragged breath and words I could never let myself say to her.
The agony of the moment stretched.
She licked her lips, her eyes again pinned to my mouth. My Adam’s apple lunged up then down, and I dug my fingers into my hips as my jaw bulged.
“Tilly—”
A loud rap pounded twice on the door. Tilly flinched and hurried to stand behind me. I raised a finger to my lips, and she nodded.
Gun cocked and ready, I padded silently to the entry. “Yeah?”
“Food.”
“I didn’t ask for food.”
“Food extra. You paid extra. I bring food. Wine too.” The proprietress’s deep-bellied voice grinded out.
I cracked the door, holding the Heckler low at my side.
Sure enough the landlady stood there, a huge domed platter on one arm and an uncorked bottle of plonk in her other hand. Gratitude swept over me.
“You take.” She shoved both at me.
“Shukraan jazilaan.”
She peered around me, saw Tilly, and murmured, “Mrs. No Name Not Wife look better. Remember, this honeymoon suite. You be loud as you want.”
Cackling loudly, she hipped her way down the hall. “More food in morning. You be hungry.”
I opened the tandoor. Spiced lamb, rice, flatbread. There was no seeming subterfuge from the woman. The wine was passable, and Tilly drank more than she ate while we sat against the headboard of the bed.
I had no problem wolfing down three portions of the mandi, sharing from the bottle with Tilly.
The guns I kept at the ready but otherwise, by the time the meal was finished, I felt almost relaxed and loose-boned. I cleared everything away then stood, stretching and popping my muscles.
Storm, Bane, Walker, and I had a protocol to follow in situations like this: radio silence for twelve hours then a rendezvous at an agreed-upon location. Unless Walker broke with the contingency plan and simply tracked down those of us MIA.
There was little to do but wait. And worry. And wonder what had come of the Houthi takeover of the embassy compound now that we were out of the line of fire.
This shithole wasn’t so bad at all. Food. Wine. A hot shower. And Tilly in my bed.
Tilly in my bed.
The night ahead would be nothing short of excruciating.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Honeymoon Sweet
AS IF SHE DIVINED the direction of my thoughts, Tilly spoke, “I’m scared, Justice.”
Her? Scared? My heart chugged up to my throat and stayed there.
“I’m here, babe.” Returning to the bed, I looped an arm around her, hoping I could slide by with offering brotherly comfort. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
“I’m scared for my father.” Big watery green eyes met mine.
“He’ll be just fine. I told you. Bane will take care of him.”
Tears overwhelmed her eyes, and I knew if I brushed them away—or kissed them away—the way I wanted to, I’d be totally undone by her.
I withdrew my arm and cleared my throat.
“Who takes care of you?” she asked.
My shoulders hunched up in an ear-hugging shrug. “No one. Just me. The way it has to be.”
Her hand slid down my back, and I jerked away.
“Don’t touch me, Tilly.” I’m not that strong.
I heard her angrily brushing away tears.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked.
“Don’t hate you.”
“You won’t look at me. You tried as hard as you could not to make love to me.”
I can’t stop looking at you.
“You know why.” I wan
ted to fuck her every way imaginable then turn right around and do it all over again.
“Tell me.”
My head snapped around. “Tilly, I can’t.”
One touch, one misplaced word, and I’d lose it for her.
She nodded shakily before the dam burst and the sobs she’d held at bay burst forth. “I’m sorry! I’m too needy, just like Jeremy said.”
My heart tore clean in two.
“Jesus Christ. Come here.” I opened my arms to her.
“No.” Her chin wobbled. “No.” She wiped her nose. “I don’t want your pity. I’m fine. I’ll be fiiiine,” she wailed.
“Goddammit, Tilly. Shut up and let me hold you.” I grabbed her in my arms as the wracking, wounded cries became muffled against my bare chest.
“That man I shot, he was the first person I ever killed,” she rattled out.
The man she’d shot to save me.
I held her tighter, threading my fingers through her hair, kissing her temple, calming her trembling.
“Does it get easier?” She rubbed her face against me, the sobs slowing to hiccups.
“No. You just get colder.”
“But you’re not cold, Justice.” Her fingers that had lain motionless stroked up the sides of my ribs. Her mouth pressed at the base of my throat. “You’re so warm.”
My fingers stilled. “I am cold, Tilly. I killed my first man when I was twenty-three. I killed him. And afterward, as soon as I could, I went out and got drunk and got laid. That’s what I do. I kill. I run. I fuck. So you know I am not a good man. And I’m not the right man for you.”
“You know what I think?” She leaped from the bed and stormed in front of me. “I think you’re scared!”
I rose to my full height, brimming with rage. “Keep your voice down!”
Bright anger made her shimmer. “I will not keep my voice down, and you’ll have to gag me to shut me up this time, Justice. So just fuck you!”
“Goddammit, woman—” Leaning over, I snarled in her face.
“Goddamn you!” she spit back. “What is your problem?” She jabbed a finger at my chest.
“I’m angry at myself! For letting us get carried away. Because the last time we fucked, the first fucking time we had sex, it ended with us running for our lives,” I roared. “Do you think I want to put you in danger again?”
I grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “You make me forget what I’m supposed to be doing. I can’t fucking focus around you, and you stand here, pointing fingers, asking for something that’s not mine to give!”
She reared back. “Bullshit. Why are you still fighting this?”
“I fight to survive. It’s what I do.” Holding her at arms length, I lowered my head.
“Then fight to love, damn you.” She broke free and hit me in the center of my chest. “You’re a damn coward,” she hissed.
“Just shut up!” I coiled above her, ready to strike out—not with a hand, never that—but with my body as she goaded me.
“Make me,” Tilly challenged.
With a final uncontained groan, I gripped the back of her head and claimed her mouth with mine. Blazing anger turned to bursting arousal when she fought back, not to hit me, but to touch me. Her arms dragged me to her, her tongue wound around mine, her leg twined up to my hip, and I pushed her against the wall.
I couldn’t resist her, no matter how stupid it was.
“Finally,” she whispered, her hands insinuating down inside the back of my pants.
The breath knocked out of me, I yanked off her top, tore down her pants. When she was naked, I pressed against her, molding my body to hers. She hurried to open my pants, her fingers popping the buttons at my waist in record time. Her hand slipped inside, covering my cock in a hot grasp I pushed into with a low groan.
I wanted naked. And I wanted her.
I hunted for a condom then kicked off my pants.
“Put it on me.” I handed the foil package to Tilly.
I held my breath as she slowly rolled the rubber down my cock. Heat crackled my skin, swelled my flesh with every touch of her fingers. At the base of my dick, she squeezed her hand, and my cockhead grew so engorged the tip of the condom looked full to bursting.
I knocked her hand away and grasped her by two handfuls of ass. I lifted her, skimming her up the wall, notching my throbbing cock at her cunt.
Mating with her mouth, licking and biting her lips, I grunted. “I can’t . . . I can’t be gentle, Tilly.”
“I know. I want you this way. I need you too.”
“Forgive me. Forgive me.” An angle of my hips, a kick of my pelvis, a deep desperate spear of my cock, I embedded myself all the way inside her.
She was wet and ready and accepted every last long thick inch with a high pitched keen of her voice.
I fucked her roughly, my heart drumming in my chest and my dick buried, released, buried, released. Tension tightened the muscles of my belly. Heat whipped up and down my back. She tasted my lips and mewled like deep sexual music every time I plunged so far she spread her thighs even more.
Fast and wet and slamming, I rocked into her, my heavy balls slapping up to beat her ass.
Sanity returned. I realized I held her in a death grip, one arm clamp around her neck, the other one seated on her ass I pumped up and down with inhuman strength.
I couldn’t stop, but I stalled for a second. “You’re so small, I don’t want to—”
Tilly’s heels drummed against my ass. “Give it to me. Give me all of you. I can take it. You know I can.”
“Fuuuck.” I clamored closer.
The pounding thrusts rose from the balls of my feet, sliding her up against the wall, bouncing her on my thighs. Every deep-seated plunge inside her cunt made her gasp.
Crazy, rough, primal.
Biting and lunging.
Bare skin slapping.
I railed into her, driving her higher and higher only to yank her down by her hips.
My thighs strained.
My ass flexed.
My feet braced.
My shoulders took the stinging bite of her nails, and I swirled my tongue inside her mouth until I thought I’d choke her with my want and throttle her with my cock.
She raised red welts on my flesh.
I sucked her nipples into my mouth.
Her neck arched, and she howled, the constricting pressure around my deep-rooted, rutting cock lavishing me with wetness and tightness and wanton warmth.
I curled her closer, keeping her spread across my groin for my last few strokes. My breath stopped. The deep ache bursting into such deep pleasure, I froze tight, come hurtling from me.
Her name spilled from my lips as soon as I could draw a sketchy breath, and I rammed into her again.
Again.
Again.
With a hand braced against the wall above her head, I pistoned into her one last time before softening my thrusts, circling inside her.
My breath pelted her ear. “I want to be bare inside you again. Skin to skin. Want to come and fill you up.”
Her fingers lingered at my neck and shoulders. Her legs remained wrapped around my waist as I held her up.
She writhed against me. “I wouldn’t complain.” Her kiss found my lips. “You feel so good like this, Justice. Still hard.”
I bit her lip gently. “Always want you.”
Her hands sifted through my hair. “Do you?”
I laughed hoarsely, unpeeling us from the wall, keeping her snugged at my waist with her thighs hiked to my hips.
I flicked off the lights in the room, focusing only on her.
Settling on the bed, I rolled into her again.
Her eyes drifted low. “Mmm.”
“I wanted romance for you, Tilly. I’m sorry.”
“You asked me to forgive you, earlier. Why?”
I tried to pull out, because I wanted to fuck her again, softer this time. But she stopped me from moving away, pulling me to her puffy lips and her moist
tongue.
“Because I hurt you.”
“Oh, Justice. You didn’t hurt me.” She rolled me over, and my charged body reared up inside her.
She kissed me, slanting her head, giving me her tongue and making me chase it back. “I don’t need romance, I just want you.”
She sat up, burying me deeper inside, but she didn’t begin to move.
The muscles of my stomach contracted to the fingers she whirled down my tummy.
She cupped her tits and sent me saucy eyes. “Or . . . you could try to seduce me instead.”
“Ha. You seduced me right off my feet the first time I saw you.” I stroked up the outside of her thighs.
“Did I?”
Bracketing her face between my two palms, I told her the one truth. “I love you, Tilly Lawless.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah.”
“I thought that was what you were saying-not-saying last night—was it only last night—about eating the lumpy biscuits and . . .” She swooped down, melting her mouth to mine. “You love me?”
“I love you.” My hands spanned her back, settling low on her rump while I bucked up. “Tell me.”
She flicked her hair back, and her lips met the corner of my mouth. “I love you so much, Justice. I love your eyes, so blue.” She kissed one with a soft smile on her lips. “Your body, so big.” She circled her hips, settling me even deeper inside. “Your honesty. Your bravery.”
“I haven’t been very brave with you.”
“Your actions speak more loudly than words.”
I flipped her onto her back. “These actions?”
Her breath caught and hitched. I pulled her thighs higher, resting them on my shoulders, bending her in half.
“Mmmm. Yes.”
My thrusts were slow, the wet pulling suction the only noise besides our moans. I angled inside her, bottoming out, sliding free.
“You must be tired.” I yanked her hips back to me and kissed her neck in the same pulsing rhythm I fucked her.
“Never that tired.” Her hands coupled on my ass, filling with my flexing flesh.
Every hot assault ended with a tight slick withdrawal. Beneath my fingers her back was slippery with warm perspiration, the same wet heat clinging between our bodies.
Tilly’s hips strived upward, greedily asking for more. And more I gave as I kissed her until breath barreled in and out of my chest. Until sturdy muscles nearly liquefied. Until with a tough harsh grunt I pounded into her, and she keened in climax, burrowing her face against my straining chest.
