by An Latro
“And Seth? He trusts him?”
“Of course,” Emma says. Her expression flat lines. “We don’t make our decisions separately, Aleja.”
Aleja smiles, and prowls closer to the younger woman. “You know, my cousin says good things about you.”
A wicked smile lights Emma’s eyes, curves her lips, and Aleja sways. Because she’s seen that unchecked charm before, and she can taste his kisses still.
“Funny. Mine does of you.”
Aleja laughs, startled by Emma’s unexpected honesty. “I’m glad father sent me here. There is much about the Morgan syndicate that…intrigues me.”
Emma pauses in the middle of lifting the bottle to her lips and Aleja lets her gaze slip down the younger girl’s body, a blatant perusal that brings a rush of color to Emma’s cheeks. She takes another healthy sip and Aleja takes the bottle, brushing her knuckles over the side of
Emma’s breast as she reaches for it. She can feel the shiver move through the younger woman, feel Emma’s eyes following her as she lifts the bottle and drinks.
Morgans, after all, are not the only ones with innate sex appeal.
There is a long moment of charged silence when she lowers the bottle, and Emma makes a little smile, weak. Motions at the door. “Seth is waiting.” She slides to the edge of the counter, and drops down.
Aleja steps forward, catching the other woman and holding her against the bar, and
Emma’s eyes are hot and hungry when she leans in, and whispers, “Then he can join us.” And then she kisses Emma, and the other girl’s body goes stiff and hard under her hands. Aleja shifts, and Emma makes a startled little noise at the soft press of familiar curves. Aleja’s hands catch her hips, that delicious flare that her sweater has been hinting at all night.
She tastes impossibly sweet, nothing like Seth, and it’s not enough. Aleja tugs Emma closer and a hand slips up, tangling in that gorgeous red-gold hair, and angling Emma just so. She lightens her touch, slow teasing kisses that are there and gone, and there, a quick flick of the tongue that makes Emma gasp, and then Aleja kisses her, hard and deep, a tangle of tongues and soft lips and teeth, nipping so lightly. Emma whimpers, and Aleja pulls away, swallows her groan as she uses her grip on Emma’s hair to pull her head back and leave wet kisses on her throat. One spot, the soft curve where her shoulder meets her neck, makes the younger woman sigh, and Aleja bites down, softly, smirking when Emma moans.
She pushes Emma against the bar, roughly, and Emma’s eyes flare open, a devilish smile twisting her lips as she asserts her own royal nature. She moves, sliding a hand between them, and into Aleja’s skirt, and her wicked smile returns. “So wet, Riza.”
“Mmm,” Aleja hums in agreement, a noise that turns choked and broken when Emma shifts, and her fingers slide into the other woman. Her hips move, bucking against her, and Emma laughs, a soft, throaty noise as she finger-fucks the older woman and Aleja slumps against her, all soft curves and warm skin and keening pleasure.
She makes a snarl of displeasure when Emma pulls back, withdrawing her hand. Wet fingers catch the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head. Aleja blinks at the younger girl, standing before her in a black bra and leather boots, her skirt pooling on the floor at her feet. A choked noise from the doorway stops them both. Aleja sees the panic in Emma’s eyes, and she leans in, kissing her, biting lightly at her lower lip until the Morgan queen is soft and panting in her arms, and then she pulls her sweater off. Without looking away from Emma, she says, “You are welcome to join us, Seth.”
Another noise, almost a growl, that’s lost in the hoarse noise Emma makes when Aleja catches one pink nipple between her teeth. Her body arches against Aleja, and she shivers as Aleja traces her tight nipple with the tip of her tongue. Makes a sobbing noise as Aleja draws on her, suckling. Screams, when her sharp teeth bite down.
Aleja laughs, her hands skimming down to the waist of Emma’s tights. “Seth had my mark, too.”
Emma’s eyes open, and Aleja follows that blue gaze to Seth, standing in the doorway to the bar, his eyes wild and hot. Her gaze skirts down, over his impressive erection, and she laughs. “See something you like, Seth?”
His eyes flash to her, and she sees a hint of panic as she peels down Emma’s tights and black boyshorts.
Seth hisses a curse, and Aleja laughs, a low, throaty noise before she lowers her head. Emma jerks, her whole body moving at the first touch of Aleja’s tongue. It's not tentative or questioning. It's a firm flick over her clit that makes the other girl tense and a smooth glide over her with a throaty hum of satisfaction. Aleja shifts, one hand on Emma’s belly to keep her still, the other one hooking her leg over her shoulder. And then she fucks her with lazy thrusts of her tongue, all too aware of the Morgan king watching from the doorway.
Emma screams once, her entire body tight and aching, centered on where Aleja is fucking her slow and steady. When she shifts suddenly, rubbing Emma's clit with quick, light fingers, she shatters, her legs shaking as Aleja holds her up. Her eyes fly wide and she stares at Seth as Aleja wrings the last of her climax out of her.
He is gone when Aleja straightens, and she can see the fear in Emma’s eyes, the bite of regret. “Sin remordimientos, dulce reina. No esta noche,” she murmurs, and the queen’s eyes widen, her breath catching, before she leans up and pulls Aleja into a kiss, and for the moment, Seth is forgotten.
Chapter 33. Graystone Apartments. New York City. December 8th
When he wakes, it's with a suddenness and a stomach-churning remembrance.
The business, and Aleja’s subtle digs. Emma’s anger, and the girls retreating. He’d given them space, because Emma needed to be able to handle herself with a foreign court without him rescuing her.
He didn’t think that when he did finally interfere, he would find them pressed against each other, Emma’s hands in Aleja’s skirt, looking sexier than he could believe.
Seth groans and rolls to sit up. He’s hung over, and in Emma’s bed. That, more than anything, convinces him that the events he’s remembering are all too real.
The apartment is still and quiet. Aleja—and her clothing and weapons—are gone, but Emma has been dressed and is covered with a light blanket. Her red hair catches the sun rising outside. She looks so young, sleeping. Innocent—the way she looked before he left. Not the girl he saw seducing an assassin the night before.
He shifts away from her. Closes the curtains on her massive windows. When he turns back, she’s staring at him, big blue eyes peering over the arm of her couch. There’s worry and a little bit of fear in her eyes, and for maybe the first time in his life, he has no idea what to say to his cousin.
“You’re going to leave without talking to me, aren’t you?” she says. Seth shifts, uneasily, his hands sliding into his pockets.
She makes a face, her disgust evident, and sits up. “Ignoring this? Ignoring me? It won’t make this go away or undo what happened last night.”
“Last night was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened. It sure as fuck shouldn’t have happened while I was in the other room.”
She laughs, a sharp noise. “Because it’s me. Because I was the one Aleja kissed, it was a mistake.” Seth goes still and quiet, and she shakes her head. “You would never have thought twice about it if it were Caleb. If she had gone down on him instead of me.”
A memory flares, a family sit-down, and walking in on Caleb getting head from one of the girls who wanted into the family ranks. “He told you about that?” Seth says, startled.
“He told me more than you think, Seth.” She’s watching him, gauging. “He didn’t just teach me. He was my friend, the one I turned to when everything was shitty,” she murmurs. “I don’t think you get that. We both lost him.”
He stares at her, caught in a memory of decadent nights and willing women, his brother’s laughter overshadowed by the pain in his cousin’s eyes.
She blinks, tears falling from her blue eyes. Seth’s heart twists as she brushes them
away furiously, and sniffles.
“Tell me,” he says. She looks up at him, and he moves away from the window, sitting next to her on the couch without being too close.
“You don’t want to hear it,” she says quietly. “You hate when I talk about you being gone.”
He does. And of course she picked up on that, purposely avoided it. “Just because I don’t like something doesn’t mean you don’t need this. Talk to me, Emma.”
She scrutinizes him for a long moment, and Seth waits patiently.
“We didn’t have any options,” she says abruptly. “Caleb looked out for me because no one else was around to do it. Uncle Gabe was dead, and you were gone, and you know how easily Mother forgot I was there. There were a few afternoons, near the beginning, when my driver didn’t show up after school, and for some reason he was the one who came to get me. He took me with him to the cafés he worked from. He listened to me even when I was being an idiot.” She glances at him from the corner of her eye. “He saw me, Seth. In our family, where no one did, Caleb saw me. And he let me see him. Not just the badass rebel the family saw—but him. The guy who liked his coffee with too much cream, and smoked because it calmed his nerves, and who would rather walk the streets than ride our cars, rather live in that shitty apartment in Astoria than in the family’s reach.” A tiny smile turns her lips. “He never took me to his penthouse. I didn’t even know where it was until I saw it in the records. Caleb’s home was always that messy apartment.”
She’s crying again. Seth isn’t sure she’s even aware of it, because she’s still smiling. “Caleb was my best friend, Seth. And now, finding out he’s more than that—it’s like losing him all over again. And I know you can’t be what he was.”
Seth pushes off the couch, a sudden fit of motion, and glares down at her. “Last night would never have happened with Caleb!” heh snaps, “You would never have let it, because you’ve never looked at him like—”—
He cuts off abruptly, and she gives him a sardonic look. “Because I never wanted to fuck him. Because I do want to fuck you.” Seth’s face goes stony, and she laughs, a bitter noise. “No more secrets, right, Seth?”
“That was never much of a secret,” he mutters.
“It wasn’t,” she says. “The whole family knew I loved you both. God, Mother hated it.” “Why? Why was he your best friend, and I’m—this?” he demands.
Emma stares at him, her eyes wide and suddenly furious. “Because he was here.”
He recoils and she scoffs, disgusted. “You don’t get it. Seth, you left. You made promises to all of us and you fucking left. We didn’t know if you were even alive down there. Do you have any fucking clue what that was like? Knowing you could be dead, and we would never know. Going to every family dinner and praying you would be there—and you weren’t. Hoping like hell that you would be the one to pick me up from school, but it was never you. You promised to teach me, and you fucking left me.”
He grips the edge of the couch and leans into her. “I know. I know leaving was fucked up. That I was gone too long. I get it but I can’t change that.”
“And I can’t change this,” she snaps. “You want me to treat you like Caleb? Then maybe you should have been here. Maybe you should have taught me like he did—maybe instead of being hell-bent on protecting me, you should consider that I don’t fucking want it. You say I’m your equal. Prove it.”
Seth stares for a long moment, and she can see the anger there. Quieter, she says, “You treat me the same way Caleb did at first. Like spun glass. But I’m not, Seth, and he figured that shit out. I’m a Morgan just like you are.” She glares at him. “Last night wouldn’t have meant anything to Caleb because he did that shit with his friends. Because he knew I didn’t care. Because he was here to find that out. You left and then you want to put it all on me that nothing has changed. Fuck you, Seth.” She stands abruptly, a rumpled sweater and long bare legs, and stalks toward her bedroom.
The sound of glass shattering stops her in her tracks. The vodka bottle from last night is lying in front of her door, shattered glass gleaming with the remnants of the alcohol.
“It changed everything,” he snarls. She glances over her shoulder. Seth is standing as still as stone, his hands clenching and unclenching. “You’re pissed I was gone? You waited ten fucking months to voice this shit, and now you think you can just put it out there and walk away?”
“You went there, and you forgot us,” she whispers. “You loved it there.” He moves, that astonishing speed that he shows sometimes, and she’s suddenly against the wall, his hands on her arms, and there is violence in every inch of his body.
For the first time in her life, Emma is scared of her cousin.
“Every day, Emma. Every fucking day, I missed you and him. Every day, I regretted leaving and wondered if I would go home. I came home and everything changed—Caleb is dead. You killed Nic. Because I left.”
“I left to make our family better. For all of us—for you. And I lost the two people I love more than anyone in the world because of it. Don’t fucking tell me nothing has changed.”
She knows she’s pushing him, but she doesn’t stop. “And ever since you did, you’ve tried to protect me. You want me in the world, but safe from it. And you can’t fucking have it both ways.”
Seth’s grip on her arms tightens and she winces. His eyes go wide and he jerks back quickly. Emma sighs, quietly. “You still handle me with kid gloves, Seth. You have since Johnny and the docks.” He flinches, looks away.
“Because that shit should never be said,” he snarls.
“It is said. It was when Caleb protected me, and it’s said now. By our enemies, and our own family. Get used to that—as long as you treat me like an equal, someone will decide it’s because I’m fucking you.” She doesn’t say anything else—doesn’t add that he would know that if he had been here.
His gaze darkens and he looks away and she nods. “And that’s why it will work. Because you’ll push me away to protect me.”
“What the fuck do you want, Emma?” he growls. “I can’t change the past, can’t undo the time I was gone or bring him back.”
She pushes away from the wall and he keeps his gaze on her face, refusing to skate down to her long bare legs. “Ignore the bastards,” she says coolly. “I know what I am to you, and what you are to me—and as much as I love you, I’m not in love with you. Last night had nothing to do with you.” She haughtily tosses her hair over her shoulder, and cocks a hand on her hip. “I miss my best friend, Seth. I miss him now as much as I missed you,” she says. “I miss being seen.”
“Why did you wait so long to tell me how mad you were?” he demands.
She’s surprised he isn’t raging, that the only display of his temper was a broken bottle and the bruises she’ll have. Seth’s temper, the tantrums of the brat prince are legendary in the family—it was one of the few things she didn’t learn from Caleb, but from the rest of the family.
“When?” she asks, simply. “There hasn’t been time, since you got home, to do anything but survive. And I was so glad you were home, so shell-shocked about him being gone. When we went to St. Lucia, I realized just how much you loved it. And being in Cuba—watching you with
Miguel and Havana. You were happy to be back.”
He stares at her, and she wants him to deny it. It breaks her heart a little bit when he turns without a word, and leaves her apartment in silence.
Emma shoves the emotions away and retrieves a broom, cleaning away the last evidence of the night before, and the argument with her cousin. When the apartment smells of Lysol instead of vodka and weed, she retreats to her shower.
When she emerges, clean and dressed, and still morose, she goes still.
Seth is sitting on the couch. His hair is spiked and wet, splotches of rain darkening his grey jacket. He stares at her, and she waits in stillness. There is something about him that is still angry and volatile.
“Drink your coffee, Emma,” he s
ays, and she almost cries, because she’s heard that from Caleb so many times. “And get your coat. It’s raining.” He stands, and she obeys without question. As she fiddles with her scarf and waits for the elevator, Seth shoves his hands in his pocket. He slides her a glance. “Emma. Don’t ever doubt that I wanted to come home.”
She shivers at the dangerous tone, but she nods. Seth’s tension eases and they step silently onto the elevator.
Chapter 34. Upstate New York. December 10th
The Town Car Is Quiet. Emma is sitting, tucked against Rama's side, a sleepy smile on her lips as low jazz fills the space. Dom glances at her occasionally, from the driver's seat. Something Rama catches too easily. The bodyguard is devoted to Emma, and that is all that keeps the Thai prince from lashing out at him. Devotion isn't a bad attribute in a bodyguard.
She's relaxed in ways he doesn't see often. Being Seth’s right hand has stressed the young queen, and she wears that stress in minute lines on her face, a tightness around her eyes that is new. She has been all stress and sharpness almost since they returned from Santa Lucia. To see her soft and unconcerned makes him happy. That it is curled next to him where she can let go of her stress enough to relax makes him absurdly proud.
The car glides through the deep, wooded countryside, and he lets his head rest against hers. She hasn't said much about where they are going or why—Seth called and told him she was coming to pick him up and Rama accepted it.
She is coming to him again, after all the distance between them and their fight while she was away. That was enough. They follow another black Bentley, and he doesn’t need to ask to know Seth is inside.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the first thing either has said in a long stretch. Emma tenses minutely before she shrugs, a tiny ripple of her body against him. “I should not have argued against your accompanying him to Cuba. Or while you were there.”
