by Cari Quinn
Beyoncé was a wise woman.
He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her against him, ignoring the shriek in his ribs in favor of the sheer pleasure of covering her mouth with his. Her tongue slipped out to war with his, and there was nothing sweet about it. Nothing tame. She tasted of snowflakes and fury and apples, always apples, and he nearly fell to his knees for real. If anyone made him want to get down and worship her, it was this woman.
His.
Always his.
When she nudged him back, he went. And dropped his forehead to hers. “I wanted to live with you because we belong together. Under the same roof, in the same bed. Side by side in the kitchen, burning shit.”
She sniffed. “You’re the only one who burns shit.”
“Tell that to your potato pancakes.”
“That was a new recipe.” She swung out to smack him and he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. “I get it. I do. You want to be together but marriage is a whole different ballgame. You aren’t ready. I’m not dense. I knew there was a good chance you’d say no, but I had to ask. Now.” She curled her fingers around his, holding tight. “I just had to.”
“Why?”
The wrinkle in her forehead was mirrored in the curl of her mouth. “Because life is too damn short.”
“It is. And?” he pressed. “There’s more. I know there’s more.”
When she didn’t say anything, he kissed her gloved knuckles again. “The plane ride.”
“Yeah, it was scary, but that wasn’t what pushed me all the way.”
“This was your errand,” he said, understanding slowly dawning. The ring box he’d shoved in his other pocket felt like a lead weight, a balanced one to his own in the opposite one. But the strong, sturdy ring she’d given him, he still cupped in his free hand. The warmth of it pushed him on. Gave him courage to speak freely.
To not hide anything anymore. Not from her.
“You ran out on your family and a celebration you’ve been talking about for months. You haven’t been to one of these open houses for years, and yet you sacrificed the beginning to go buy me an engagement ring. In a storm. Let’s not forget the storm.”
“Yes. I did all that.” That she sounded absolutely annoyed only made him more delighted with her.
In fact, any momentary irritation that she’d scooped him on the whole proposing thing had faded into freaking happiness.
This incredible, infuriating woman wanted to marry him. Voluntarily.
“Why? You plan everything to the nth degree.”
She blew out a breath and sent a tangle of blond fluttering. “It was the stupid book, okay? The stupid pregnancy book in your bag. Yes, I snooped. I’m sorry. I’ll feel guilty about it again after I get done being pissed that you don’t want to marry me, though apparently you’re cool with the idea of knocking me up. Maybe. Someday.” She hesitated for a heartbeat while his brain wheeled like a drunken monkey on a unicycle. “Unless your someday isn’t with me, after all.”
His eyes widened, to the point that he was sure his eyelid had just touched the jumping vein in his temple. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”
“You heard me.”
“I did, but I know you aren’t thinking straight now. Who do you think I am? Gray-freaking-Duffy? I don’t sit around reading manuals about impregnating future girlfriends.”
She gave him a smug smile. “Gray doesn’t need a manual.”
“That’s officially it.” He shoved the ring she’d bought him in his pocket and gave her approximately two seconds to realize what he was about to do.
As in swoop in and haul her over his shoulder, fireman’s carry style. Saying nothing, he began trudging up the hill with his very unwilling charge flailing her legs and beating his back.
Because, hey, why not have more bruises? He had such a nice rainbow already. If he ended up in a full body cast tomorrow, it’d be worth it.
They were going to get a few things straight. Up close and personal.
And alone. So very alone.
“Nicholas, you better put me down right now.”
“Make me.”
She rapped on his spine with those ninja knuckles of hers, but he didn’t so much as slow down. He was beyond pain now. His purpose gave him renewed energy to withstand the barrage of attacks from his enemy.
Who happened to be his soon-to-be wife. He’d been roughed up by his best friend and his woman in one day. Somehow fitting, that.
But he could do some roughing up of his own, and he wouldn’t leave any bruises behind. No marks of any kind except maybe the reddened welts from the silken cord he’d stashed in a secret pocket of his bag. She’d probably found that too.
“I might be a cheapskate, but you’re a snoop.”
“You’re about to be dead. Do you think you can carry me through the store without my father ripping you to shreds?”
“Yep. Actually, I know I can.” He didn’t, not one bit, but he kept his voice sunny in spite of the stitches in his sides from the climb.
It was cold as shit out, and he was beat all to hell. Lila was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a waif. He loved every one of those curves and intended to make happy use of them soon, but right now he was feeling every step.
Maybe it was time to hit the weights with Deak, that gym rat. Or just stop hitting Simon, and letting Simon hit him.
“You can’t just leave two cars.”
“I can, and I did.”
“You’re blocking the road!”
“I am. Might slow down a cow or two. Now hush.” He pinched her very sexy ass and she fell silent. “Good girl. You might get off with a light punishment if you don’t dig your hole any deeper.”
She huffed. “I’d like to see you punish me.”
“You’re about to.” He adjusted his hold on her legs and thanked God the hill wasn’t that steep. He was going to pay for hauling ass up it in his current condition, but hey, he had a statement to make.
And if he fell to the ground in some kind of fit, maybe she’d feel guilty for driving him to such extremes.
Gray didn’t need an impregnating handbook. Yeah, they’d just see what he needed, and how little Lila could walk once he’d shown her his grasp of the subject of sex.
“You can’t carry me through the store. I’ve known these people since I was a child. Nick!” She whaled on his back, but not hard. She hadn’t forgotten he’d already met the ground and a few flying fists. She wasn’t really that angry. Probably more shocked than anything.
Yeah, well, he was a little shocked at how much this night had gone off the rails—hell, the whole day—but he was working with what he’d been given.
Right now, he was focused on tying her to his bed. That would make all the pain and discomfort worthwhile.
The main store on the orchard property swam into view, and he nearly wept joyful tears. He blinked the snow out of his eyes, gripped her thighs a bit harder and marched determinedly toward the building.
“Nick, please. I’ll do anything you want.”
He paused. “Literally anything?” That could have possibilities.
“Why, you jackass, I can’t believe I ever wanted to marry your pigheaded ass.”
He started walking again. “That’s double negative ass, and by the way, yours is luscious.” Turning his head, he nipped the fullness of her cheek right through her pants.
“I hate you. So much.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” At the last moment, he swerved around the side of the building and up the steps that led to a small balcony off their room. He’d noticed it earlier, and now it was coming in pretty damn handy. “If those French doors aren’t unlocked, I’m going to be picking the lock, baby. Brace yourself.”
“You would break into my parents’ property?” Half her words were sucked away by the swirling wind, but he got the gist.
“Sweetheart, I’d break into the Vatican while the Pope said Easter Mass.”
“Why—you—you…”
“Y
eah. Ditto.” He stopped midway up the stairs to catch his breath. He was a few steps away from collapse. The flames currently eating through his shoulder blade weren’t helping. Perhaps he’d be popping a few Advil before he fucked Lila into next Christmas.
If a few meant fourteen.
“The doors aren’t locked. I unlocked them after we arrived.” She blew her hair away from her mouth. “Turnbull is super safe, except for visiting rock stars.”
Ignoring her, he risked his life to adjust her weight and attempt to open the door. As expected, she used his lack of balance to swing down and swing out, catching him upside the head hard enough to not only clean his clock, but set off the alarm too.
Holy shit. His girl had a fist on her. And she wasn’t pulling her punches anymore.
Cupping his ear, he pivoted to stare her down. Breathing hard, they measured each other, separated by only a few inches with the cracked open French door between them. Her hat was barely still on her head, her hair flopping everywhere, and she had murder in her eyes.
Riding shotgun with lust.
“Run,” he murmured.
She yanked open the French doors and ran.
He fully expected her to sprint through the room and out the door and downstairs to safety. Deep down, she was a good girl, through and through. Sure, she had pockets of dirty, but she had to know he was on the verge of testing them both. Physical pain and exertion and the fight—fights, plural, though theirs hadn’t been that serious—had him raring to go, and not in a way that matched well with silk sheets and candlelight.
But instead of fleeing the room and escaping, she slapped a hand against the door and turned the lock. Then she turned and faced him and unspooled her scarf. Whipped it out from her neck and thwapped it against the wall before letting it fall to the floor, the same place her coat soon fell. She only wore one glove, though that didn’t last either. She continued on to her sweater, shedding it and her lacy bra in about half a second. He still hadn’t moved from outside the French doors when she moved on to her pants and panties, drawing them off and discarding them with a flick of her fingers.
Wearing only her leather calf boots—and how she’d gotten her jeans off over them so silkily was one of the mysteries of women—she marched to the bed. “You better get your ass moving, Crandall, before I have to take care of things myself.”
Her impatience clear, she finally slipped out of her boots, killing one of his fantasies and spurring about fifty others.
Even her feet were damn sexy.
He didn’t waste any time. He lost his clothes on the way to the bed, more aware of the various aches and pains that made themselves known as he peeled away fabric than where his garments landed. Then she rolled into the path of the moonlight and he got a full glimpse of every one of her creamy curves.
His mouth went drier than it already was.
He tried to swallow. Couldn’t. Tried to breathe. Couldn’t. He fumbled out for the spindle of the footboard, finding he needed to hold on as she slid a hand over her breasts.
“Going to watch? Okay. We can do that too. But just so you know, I intend to—oh my God. Nick.” She gasped and crawled across the bed to brush careful fingers over the mottled mess turning his rib tattoos even darker. “Let me look at you.”
“Yes, look. Touch.” He grabbed her hand and brought it to his dick. His extremely hard, extremely insistent dick. That part of him hurt far more than the others right now. “Use.”
“You must be in so much pain.” She glanced up at him and he could’ve sworn he saw a sheen of wetness for an instant before she blinked it away. “Lay down. Let me finish this.”
He gave her a healthy dose of side-eye. “Not that I’m not normally up for inventive sex, but tonight you gotta spell that out.”
She laughed deep in her throat and curled her fingers around him, tightening over and over again until he was biting off an oath. “On your back.”
His plan had been to chase her and toss her on the bed, but she’d been altogether too willing. In light of his injuries, that was truly a Christmas miracle.
So he flicked on the bedside lamp and laid down. “If you’re going to finish me, I’m damn sure going to see every second.”
Catching her tongue between her teeth, she climbed astride him and gripped his cock in the silken fist that was her hand. While he stared, she leaned over him and didn’t slick her mouth over him as he’d figured she would. Instead she let a trail of wetness from her lips touch the head of his shaft, pearling there before it slid down the side and made him hiss.
“You’re hurt, so this is going to be quick. I’m also pissed that you carted me up the hill like a sack of potatoes. But I was denied a fuck all day long, and you owe me this.”
Some man could probably deny her, but it sure as hell wasn’t him. He was about to indicate such when she flattened her tongue over the slit in his cock and met his gaze, holding it long enough to rip a groan from his throat. He fisted a hand in the sheets and realized he couldn’t make a fist, not anymore. His knuckles had finally swollen to the point he could only grab as weakly as a baby. But she didn’t need his help. She was already pivoting to face the other way, sending him a look over her shoulder that caused his eager cock to bob desperately against her perfectly rounded ass.
“Ready for me?” Her voice was barely a purr.
Luckily she didn’t expect him to answer, just grasped him in cool, slick fingers and brought him home. One achingly slow inch at a fucking time. When just the tip was inside, she rocked forward and gave him a bird’s eye view. Her swollen flesh spreading to take him inside, his thick length opening her up. Christ. He didn’t need to see anything more than just the slide of their bodies together to lose his mind.
Frustrated that he couldn’t fist his hand, he slid his fingers over her back, as lightly as the air streaming into the room from the open French door. It was freezing out so the breeze should’ve felt more like a gust. But the temperature between them had risen so fast that he was already on fire, a thin sheen of sweat covering him from head to toe. Of course that might have also been from the teeth-grinding soreness wanting to take him over, but he preferred to think it was because of her.
Everything was because of her.
She arched as he rose up to tangle his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back as she sank down on him, taking in more. Then slipping away, the ultimate tease. He switched hands and grabbed her hair with his good one, knowing she enjoyed a bite of pain to go with her pleasure. Bumping his hips, he urged her on, forcing her down on him on an exhale that sounded like torment. She cried out, squeezing him inside, bouncing up and down on him as if she’d been made for just that. A tug on her hair and her back bowed, giving him a glimpse over her shoulder at the open closet door.
And the mirror inside.
“You like to watch yourself ride me, don’t you?” He scraped his teeth over her back, all that supple skin, and reached around her with his damaged hand to cup her breast. “Always have, right from the beginning. Before it was my mouth.”
She levered up and powered down again, tearing away his words. His breath ripped out of him and he dropped back to the bed, sure he was dreaming when she reversed positions again and crawled up his body like an angel of mercy. Perfect tits bobbing, their ruby red nipples full and tight. Almost as red as that area between her legs that he craved to burrow into and never leave.
Without a word, she straddled him again, this time sliding to the side enough so he could see the mirror. Allowing him to witness the sheer decadence of her rising up, her golden hair streaming down her back to flirt with the top of her ass while she enveloped him, again and again. Every straining inch. He started to reach for her breasts, for anything he could touch, but she arched upward and pushed one against his mouth, not asking, not begging. Demanding he do her bidding, with lips and teeth and tongue.
And dirty, dirty words.
“You don’t want me to move, do you? This is your show. All you.” He d
rew her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard before releasing it with a little pop. “You just want to fuck me and use me and cover me in all that sweet pussy juice.”
“Yes. Yes.” She shifted away from him to grab his thighs behind her, using them as a fulcrum to push off. To give him the fucking performance of his life while she squeezed and released, squeezed and released. That beautiful rosy slit working him so hard that his balls ached even more than the rest of him.
Every part of him ached, loving her, wanting her. An hour, a night would never be enough.
Even forever wouldn’t be long enough.
Not surging up into her to finish them both off was torture. But he let her take her fill, reaching down not only to toy with his cock, slippery and hot with her arousal, but her own clit. She fumbled her fingers over it, circling endlessly until the madness in her blue eyes turned fever bright and her full lips parted on a sob.
Needing to feel it, to experience every bit of it with her, he cupped his good hand over her pussy, forcing her fingers to move even faster. She spasmed, her walls rippling around him, cradling him so tight. His cock jerked, and he spilled into her as a groan burst out of his throat. Somehow he gave her everything and still found more. A well of more existed only for her.
For them.
Ignoring the pain, he reared up and banded his arms around her, fusing their mouths while they rode out the pleasure.
Even when it was over, he didn’t let her go. Damp torso to damp torso, foreheads pressed together, mouths clinging. He ran out of air and she fed him hers, her soft, silky hands coming up to frame his face. Words trembled on his tongue, the kind he should’ve led with outside after her proposal instead of his stupid bravado and ego.
Yes, he’d marry her. Every day for the rest of his life. Gladly.
And when he died, he’d be reincarnated as her jerky boss—there had to be some equity in the lifetimes, right?—and they’d engage in an inappropriately flirty, off-limits office relationship that wasn’t altogether different from what they’d gone through in this lifetime. Then he’d ask her to stay late to wield his stapler some night before he fulfilled one of his favorite fantasies of banging her on top of a desk.
