She's a Spitfire (Tough Love Book 2)

by Chloe Liese

  I tilted her hips so I could swat her on the ass. Her eyes snapped open.

  “Nairne, let it out. I want to hear you.” I kept my pace and played with her clit.

  “I don’t want your neighbors to hear us.”

  “Fuck the neighbors. You didn’t care in Boston, why do you care now?” I did seem to have a penchant for thin-walled buildings, but that’s what came with occupying restored historic houses in old cities. What was the big deal? Neighbors shared walls. They could put on their noise canceling headphones, turn on the TV. Listen, for all I fucking cared.

  “You’re—” Her breath caught, and she bucked up, panting as my fingers stroked teasingly.

  “I’m what?” I let up on her clit, so she’d answer.

  “No, don’t stop.” She swallowed, grabbed my hand and put it back where it had been.

  “Answer me.”

  “You’re a famous athlete now. I don’t want the bloody papers printing about our sex noises.” She laugh-moaned as I resumed my touch.

  “See, was that so hard to answer? And please.” I scoffed. “No one’s going to do a tell-all to reporters about how loud we are. Forget about everybody else. It’s just us. Let it out.”

  Everything but her cunt’s tight grip around me relaxed. Her shoulders dropped, her head fell to the side, and her hands unclasped the sheets. She groaned then keened high and soft. That familiar, tender, undone sound made my whole body thrum.

  I touched her breasts, her clit, ran my hand along her lower back in featherlight touches that were powerfully erogenous to her. I’d been a diligent student of her body and now I was the fucking master of it.

  “Zed,” she whispered. She gripped my forearms.

  Our eyes locked and I leaned down over her, so our bodies pressed tight together. Then I kissed her until she was speaking against my lips.

  “Yes. Yes,” she chanted.

  I could feel her chasing release as I fought the orgasm that wanted to rip through me. I set my mouth to the shell of her ear, told her every filthy, beautiful thing I thought about us in that moment, and felt her start to clench around me. Nairne came as much with her mind as her body. It had taken trial and error, talks and sometimes ridiculous fits of laughter, to figure out what she needed to hear to make that happen.

  Her unhinged cries slowly tore at my control. I came and it blindsided me, detonating in the base of my spine and shooting up as sparks of light into my vision. “Shit, Nairne, I’m sorry.”

  She squeezed my arms so tight I felt them bruising. I rocked into her, trying to give her what she needed while my cock was still hard.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. I reached between us, rubbed her clit again, and she came, screaming so loud my ears rang. Relief washed over me. I never wanted to come before her, but I did sometimes, because she undid me. I could make her come lots of ways, but me inside her, that was what she liked best, so that’s what I always wanted to give her. Just didn’t mean I always could.

  I fell to her side, gasping for air like I’d just run a marathon. I was in the best shape of my life and fucking Nairne just about did me in. Turning her head, she gave me a sated smile.

  “I squeaked it in there.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and she gasped for air and fanned herself. “God almighty.”

  “I told you,” I panted, “god doesn’t get the credit.”

  I stared at her. Felt my heart thundering and my body flooded with the bliss of release and love for her. My fears about life’s maddening unpredictability and her vulnerability could fuck off, so I could focus on the only thing that was truly guaranteed to me—this moment, this one, singular moment.

  I’d get used to the stresses of my new life, the parameters of what was necessary to keep her protected and me sane. We’d settle in, find our rhythm. I could do this. Make a life that required a little bit of security and vigilance, but offered so much more peace and stability than I’d ever dreamed of sharing with a woman I loved.

  Most days I still couldn’t believe I’d found Nairne. Iron sharpening iron. Volatile equals that made each other burn brighter to steady, sure heat. We felt too good to be true. Life felt too good to be true. And that’s because, I’d soon find out, it was.

  Twenty-Two

  Nairne

  August passed in a blur of research and studies that had morphed from steady summer exploration to frenzied fall semester research. Our lab was now full of people besides Christophe and me, and I formed at least a few work friendships with the two other females in the lab. We had to stick together in that place, but at the outset we didn’t seem to have terribly much in common beyond a love of bioengineering and nerd puns. So, I had the occasional lunch or tea with them, and mostly kept to my studies and seeing Zed when I could.

  Which wasn’t as often as either of us liked. I was drowning in work, and Zed’s schedule became packed with kicking off his season—more training, travel, and press, and an uptick in matches each week. But as much as I missed him, I didn’t mind, because he was finally being recognized as one of the world’s best. I knew it from watching him play and I’d seen the writeups in the papers, too. The accolades and admiration at how seamlessly this American had woven himself into the most graceful and fluid of England’s clubs. Praise for his stamina, his explosive speed, the precision of his passes, the consistency of his shots. Zed was crushing it.

  And he had a home match on my birthday, which royally buggered him, even when I told him it wasn’t a big deal. I had gratitude for life, of course, but could do without the ceremonial fanfare. The autumn weather that had begun to show itself in September was gift enough—a cool nip in the evening air, that loamy smell of damp earth.

  I savored the beauty of the season as I left work for my birthday evening and opted to skip being driven. This way I could enjoy the weather and the scenic streets that took me home. Tom followed a respectable pace away, hands in pockets, scanning anybody who passed me by.

  When I got to my building, Tom insisted on entering first, checking the vestibule, then waving me in. He did the same thing inside my flat, and when I got there, I froze.

  “Zed?”

  His hair was wet from a shower, and a button was off on his shirt. He’d rushed home from his game, and the place smelled incredible. Garlic, parsley, and white wine.

  “You made me birthday dinner?” Hot unexpected tears burned my eyes.

  He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and stared at me curiously. “I’ve got her Tom, thanks.”

  Tom nodded. “Goodnight, Ms. MacGregor, and happy birthday.”

  I couldn’t break my gaze with Zed. “Thank you, Tom.”

  The door clicked shut.

  “Happy birthday, innamorata.” He leaned his hands on my push rims to kiss me, then he thumbed away my tears. “Why are you crying?”

  I sniffled and folded my arms. I was tougher than this. I didn’t blubber about emotional nonsense. About sweet gestures like birthday dinners. Or the call my father had made me earlier, the flowers he’d had delivered that sat opulent and exotic in the center of my little dining table.

  “Allergies.”

  Zed smirked. “Of course.”

  I held my arms open to him and he scooped me up, wrapped my legs around his waist. I hooked an arm around his neck and breathed his rainstorm scent. My other hand slid down his chest, felt his steadily beating heart and the hard planes of his pecs. “You’ve a button off,” I said thickly. Two traitorous tears spilled down my cheeks.

  His eyes searched mine and he kissed me again. “Couldn’t care less.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered against his lips.

  His tongue slipped into my mouth and he pressed us closer.

  “It’s crazy, how much I love you.” He ground himself against me and bumped my arse against the counter as things went from respectable to depraved as they usually did with Zed and me—very quickly.

  I finally came up for air. “I know. And I love you, too. But something’s burning.”
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  “Shit!”

  Night wind whipped my hair around as we drove, and I brushed it off my face. “Best risotto I’ve ever had.”

  Zed grinned. “A little crispy on the edges, but I saved it.”

  He really had. It had been delicious. I licked my ice cream and let my empty hand dance out the window along the air current created by Zed’s driving. “These are my favorite nights. Dusk in late summer.”

  His eyes flicked to me then back to the road. “Dessert seems to be making you pretty happy, too. Since when do you like gelato?”

  I had another lick and shrugged. “Once in a while.”

  He smirked and turned the Ferrari fast and smooth around the arc of the roundabout. “Whenever we end up going to Italy, you’ll have real gelato, preferably not in weird-ass combinations like the one you have right now.”

  I smacked his chest. “I know what I’m doing. Pistachio and lemon go together perfectly.”

  “No, they don’t.” He shuddered. “Chocolate and pistachio, yes. Limoncello, you have alone. Then a nice espresso.”

  He used his accent, like any word that was Italian couldn’t help but be pronounced so. It made me smile and I hid it behind my ice cream.

  Tom had followed us in his car to give us some privacy, but Zed had insisted on him coming, which I felt bad for, because it was late. Tom’s night switch, Marc, who did the graveyard shift either at my place or Zed’s, depending where I was, was waiting outside my flat with a frown on his face.

  I watched Zed’s eyes narrow in concerned analysis as he pulled to a stop in front of my building. “Wait here.”

  “Why?”

  “Just wait here, fragolina.”

  Zed shoved open the door and slapped it shut behind him.

  “Highhanded arse,” I grumbled. I licked my ice cream and watched them talking, Zed’s hands planted on his hips. “What are they faffing about?” I muttered to myself. Marc’s gesture answered me, as he pointed inside.

  “Ms. MacGregor?” Tom’s voice at the window made me jump and I almost lost my gelato.

  “Y-yes, Tom?”

  “I’m sorry for startling you. Can I get you anything?”

  “Just Zed, if you don’t mind.”

  Tom joined the two men and pointed back toward me. Zed came my way and leaned on my open window. “We’re going back to my place.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “There’s something outside your apartment door. I’m going to have Tom drop it off at the police station and have it checked for fingerprints, and that’s all I’m saying.”

  I popped the last of my ice cream cone in my mouth and crunched. “Get my chair from the bonnet, please.”

  His jaw ticked. I had him cornered. Zed never denied me my mobility, and I knew he was sorely tempted right now. “I’ll get it for you, because—”

  “Because any time I ask for my wheelchair, you get it for me, because it’s my bloody legs, my independence, Zed.”

  “I know, damn it,” he snapped. “But you are not going upstairs.”

  I rolled my eyes as he did what I’d asked. When I transferred over, he stood in front of me. “Nairne Aileen MacGregor, stay here.”

  I wheeled over his toe just to piss him off extra and zipped past Tom and Marc, through the foyer into the lift.

  “Nairne!” Zed sprinted and slipped between the lift doors as they shut. “Jesus, can you not listen to me, for once?”

  “No.” I glared at him. “I told you when you met me, I’m not controllable material. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

  He threw up his hands. “You’re gonna be the death of me. I have good reason for asking you to stay.”

  The lift opened and I went down the hall and froze. A delicate mermaid figurine. Her porcelain arms held a small bouquet of thistle.

  “Jesus,” I croaked.

  My heart pounded in my ears. There was a note stuck under it, and from here I could tell it was in French.

  “Don’t touch anything, Nairne.”

  I wheeled closer, and leaned over my lap to read it.

  “Je t'ai trouvé. Bon anniversaire, ma sirène. ”

  Breathing was hard. Because the handwriting was unfortunately all too familiar.

  “Nairne.” Zed crouched down and took my face in his hands. “What’s it mean?”

  “Found you. Happy birthday, my mermaid.”

  “Found you?” Zed stared down at the letter then back at me. “What the fuck is this, Nairne?”

  Shock took over and I started shaking.

  “Nairne, talk to me. Do you know who this is from?”

  I managed a weak nod. “The…fellow I told you about. The one who tried to…”

  Zed’s face darkened and he stood abruptly, then yelled for Tom and Marc, but I barely heard him.

  Pulsing lights. Bass beat that thumped in rhythm with my heart. He watched me from the corner of the club and tilted his glass my way. A snifter for brandy. Cognac, perhaps. Expensive stuff, but that wasn’t unexpected. He looked rich and he was handsome. Tall and dark-eyed. My type to the letter.

  He parted a sea of people and when he found me, he ran his fingers through my hair. “Look at this. Red as Ariel.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d had my auburn hair tugged and been uncreatively called the Little Mermaid. But I was drunk, and he felt good, pressed up against me, hand gripping my waist hard. So I laughed and gave him my throat because I saw his eyes on it.

  He kissed the skin, bit it. I wanted his hand up my dress, his fingers fucking me roughly. I was hot and soaring from hours of dancing and too much twenty-five year whiskey. I wanted an orgasm and then ten hours to sleep it off.

  “Make me come.”

  He tsked, drifted his hand up my throat and gripped. “So demanding. A drink first.”

  He tipped his chin at the bartender, and another whiskey appeared. Then he cupped his hand over it as he lifted it from the tray and swirled it, like he was savoring a wine’s bouquet.

  I reached for it and he pulled it away.

  “You have to earn it, my little mermaid.”

  “I’m not a whore. And I’ll touch you how I want. Nothing more.”

  I slid my hands down his front, stroked him expertly and he grunted into my touch. When his eyes fell shut in pleasure, I released my grip suddenly, then ripped the whiskey out of his hand and threw half of it back.

  His eyes snapped open and narrowed.

  “Ah, we have a tease on our hands.”

  I shrugged, finished the rest of the whiskey as he yanked me back to him. And then suddenly, my senses shifted. My legs grew heavy in a way that was familiar to me now but had been foreign and alarming then. Dull, virtually numb. My mouth felt thick, jammed with words caught on my tongue.

  He smiled and scooped me into his arms. Four crystal chandeliers flickered light as I was carried under and past them. Then the ceiling spun as we turned, and he set me on a chaise. My vision was skewed but it looked like a private lounge, richly furnished with a view over the club.

  When I tried to shift off the sofa, and couldn’t, panic screamed, muffled in the back of my brain. My limbs got heavier and staying awake felt impossible. His breath ghosted over me. Cloves. Cognac. Hyperventilating, I couldn’t help but drown in the smell. I wanted to vomit.

  His hands tugged my dress up to my waist, and down to expose my breasts, then his hands ripped my knickers away. His face got closer, as his body pressed mine down into the sofa.

  Until suddenly, his face was yanked away, and he tumbled to the side.

  Elodie.

  Long chestnut curls bounced into my face and tickled my nose. I couldn’t shoo them away even if I wanted to. And I didn’t. Because those curls, meant her presence, and that meant I was safe.

  Safe.

  But not for long.

  Twenty-Three

  Zed

  After I came back from talking over the news with Tom and Marc, I tossed my phone on the bathroom vanity, w
here it clacked and spun. I looked her over. My fragolina. She seemed tired, too thin, and stressed. Rather than let me share the incredible burden she carried because of him, she’d kept this to herself. And I’d failed to pick up on just how pervasive his effect had been on her life. I could kick myself.

  Nairne had dropped into some kind of fugue state outside her apartment that I couldn’t get her out of, until she was settled in my place, soaking in a hot bath. She’d been slowly coming out of it since. Her eyes had been fixed on a blank spot halfway up the wall. She turned gradually toward me like she’d just woken from a dream.

  “How’d I get here?”

  A ribbon of auburn dropped out of her hair clip. I picked it up and tucked it back in. “I brought you here. You were out of it.”

  Her eyes watered and she brought a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, love.”

  She didn’t say that often. Love. Nairne was sparse with affectionate words, so when she used them, I drank them in like precious water found in the desert.

  I gentled her cheek, and felt my own love for her dousing the flame of my anger and worry. “For what?”

  She sighed. “For not telling you everything about it. I just hate thinking about him, and I told myself it was all in the past…”

  I shifted at the edge of the soaker tub and nodded.

  “When we first started playing, Elodie and I were…wild. Young. Pretty, professional athletes—you’re familiar.” She smiled sadly. “I met a man one night. He came on strong, and I liked it.

  “I didn’t know him, but that wasn’t unlike me. I’d usually fool around with a fellow, then get some drinks, talk. If I fancied him enough then we’d go somewhere and…”

  She cleared her throat. “But this fellow, he ordered me a drink and then I started feeling very odd. He took me to some private room, and started taking off my clothes. To my credit, my brain was telling my knees to knock him in the bollocks, but my limbs just weren’t cooperating. Then Elodie ripped him off me.”

  I’d always liked Elodie. She was Nairne’s protector before I’d gotten there.