Hard Night

by Jackie Ashenden

  “That’s what she called him,” she said thickly. “Her prince.”

  “After he beat her?”

  “It was just a couple of slaps. That’s what she said. She told me it’s what people who love each other do.”

  There was a silence and for a second she was conscious only of his arms around her, strong and tight. She’d never been held like that before and it felt so good.

  “No,” Jacob said at last. “That’s not what people who love each other do. I was only six when Dad disappeared and I don’t remember much about my parents’ marriage. But I do remember that they argued. It was never physical, only shouting. And they always made up afterward. Neither of them ever hit me either.” His arms tightened. “Your mother was wrong.”

  Of course, she knew that. Didn’t she?

  “But you hit me.” She couldn’t stop herself from saying it. “Just then.”

  “Let’s be clear. I spanked you because you enjoyed it. Because it got you off. That’s something entirely different.”

  Was it? Maybe it was. She certainly had enjoyed it, that much was true.

  “Plus, I gave you the opportunity to get away,” he went on. “And you didn’t. You lay there waiting for me to do it again.”

  A kind of peace stole through her, making every muscle in her body relax, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like that.

  Yes, you do. It was back in the bunker, when he was in bed with you.

  Oh yes, so it was. Some part of her—the Joanna part—wanted to protest that it wasn’t her, that it was Faith who’d felt that, but right now, she just couldn’t find it in her to listen to that part.

  “How do you know so much about me?” she asked softly.

  He brushed another kiss over her shoulder, making her shiver. “I cared for you for six months, sweet girl. I made you my study. That’s how.”

  “But I was . . . different then.”

  “No. You just weren’t wearing your armor.” He shifted slightly, pulling out of her, one hand sliding up her arm to her shoulder, then moving down her back, stroking her like a cat. “That’s what Joanna is. She’s your armor, your protection. And you need her. Because this world is a dangerous place.”

  Huh. She’d never thought of it like that before.

  She wriggled a little to get him to release her and he did so, clearly reluctantly. Once she had some room, she turned over onto her back and looked up at him. He was lying half on her and half to the side, his forearms flat to the mattress on either side of her head.

  The look on his face fascinated her for reasons she didn’t understand.

  “What’s your armor then?” She stared up into his eyes, trying to see the man hidden in the depths. “And who are you without it?”

  His mouth curved, but something glittered in his gaze. Something sharp. “You don’t want to know.”

  “I do. Tell me.”

  He was silent a long moment.

  “I don’t need armor,” he said quietly at last. “I need a cage.”

  Perhaps she should have been afraid of the knife-bright edge in his voice and the darkness that threaded through it. But she wasn’t.

  No, if anything, she was desperately curious.

  “A cage?” She searched his face. “What do you mean?”

  “Joanna Lynn protects you from other people.” He reached out and brushed her hair back from her forehead, a tender gesture. “Jacob Night protects other people from me.”

  CHAPTER 15

  It was just daylight when Jacob woke and considering he’d only had a few hours’ sleep, he was feeling pretty good.

  Faith was still asleep, so he eased himself out of the bed without waking her, dressing quickly, then letting himself out of the room.

  A half hour later, having stocked up on a few essentials—such as coffee and a few breakfast pastries that he knew she liked, plus a pit stop at the drugstore to get more condoms—he came back to find the room empty.

  Leaving her alone had been a risk, but he didn’t think she would leave the way she’d bolted from the bunker the night before.

  And indeed when he closed the door behind him and set the breakfast treats down on the coffee table, he noted that both guns were still there. She wouldn’t leave without those, he’d bet his entire fortune on it.

  Then he heard the shower going and smiled.

  Moving over to the bathroom door, he opened it and stepped inside.

  The room was full of steam but not enough to hide the shower cubicle in the corner or the naked woman standing inside it.

  She had her back to him, her skin gone pink from the heat, and as he watched, she tipped her head back and pushed her hands through her black hair, water streaming down her spine and over the perfect curve of her ass.

  Instantly he was hard, but he made no move, content to stand there and watch her. Because she was eminently watchable and he hadn’t done it nearly enough.

  He would have preferred to do a lot more of it the night before—or rather very early that morning—and a lot more fucking too, but they’d both needed some sleep and so he hadn’t pushed it.

  He couldn’t really push it now, not when the situation that had brought them here still hadn’t been addressed. Then again, another half hour wouldn’t make much difference.

  That’s what you said last night and you still haven’t dealt with it.

  Yes. His brother and his whereabouts, and the issue of his continued existence. Not to mention the fact that he might not be the man Jacob thought he was.

  Also not forgetting that she might have killed him.

  That also.

  Emotion shifted inside him, black anger and a deep, possessive hunger. But they weren’t useful and weren’t needed, so he pushed them down back where they came from.

  What he wanted and needed was right here, standing in the shower cubicle. And she was naked.

  “I hope you’re not being shy,” she said without turning around. “Because I can’t think of any other reason you’re still standing there fully dressed.”

  “Shyness is not my problem, I assure you. I’m simply admiring the view.”

  “This view is getting bored.”

  He laughed and reached for the hem of his T-shirt, dragging it up and over his head, dropping it onto the floor before taking a condom out of his pants pocket and getting rid of the rest of his clothes. Ripping open the packet, he took out the condom, then rolled it down, enjoying the anticipation building inside him. Then he moved to the shower and pulled open the door.

  The shower stall was tiny, barely enough room for him let alone both of them, but he didn’t care, stepping inside and pulling the door shut after him.

  Then he put a possessive hand on the back of her neck, getting a kick out of the way she shivered as he touched her.

  “Why do you do that?” she asked as he pushed her gently against the wall of the shower in front of her. “Hold me . . . there?”

  “Because you like it.” He kept his hand where it was and moved behind her, pressing his body against the length of hers.

  She was wet, slippery, and already he was finding it difficult to think.

  He tightened his grip and bent to the side of her neck, trailing his mouth from below her ear and down to where her neck met her shoulder. “And because you’re mine,” he added, then bit her the way he had the night before.

  She shivered in response, angling her head to bare her neck to him. “I’m not yours.”

  “Yes, you are.” He bit her again, harder this time, the edge of his teeth against her skin, tasting salt and Faith. “And you want it, I know you do.”

  The breath went out of her as he trailed more kisses over the side of her neck and shoulder. “Jacob . . .”

  “What is it, sweet girl?” He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her up onto her toes, then flexed his hips so he could slide his cock between her thighs. “I hope you’re not going to continue arguing with me. It’s unseemly in a princess.”
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br />   A tremble shook her as he nudged against all that soft, wet heat. “I’m not a—”

  “Oh yes, you are.” He pushed himself inside her, a hard, deep thrust that forced her against the wall of the shower. She gasped, her hands slapping down onto the tiles in front of her.

  He paused, not moving, not moving just yet, dipping his head to nuzzle against her neck. “Your mother lied to you. You were a princess then and you’re a princess now. A warrior princess. How else could you handle me?”

  She was breathing fast, her body trembling. “So . . . w-what does that make you? A prince?”

  He massaged the back of her neck with his thumb as a burst of intense possessiveness gripped him. And he didn’t fight it. He embraced it.

  Christ, he loved how she was shaking. Loved how her pussy was gripping him so tightly, as if she didn’t want to let him go.

  Mine. Fucking mine.

  “I told you I’d give you everything you ever wanted. And if you want a prince, then you’ll have one.” Slowly he slid out of her, then thrust back in, sharper, harder.

  “J-Jacob . . .” His name was a low moan, her fingers pressed to the tiles, her knuckles white. “Oh . . . God . . .”

  He kept her off her toes, so she had nothing to hold on to but him, thrusting again, short, hard strokes that had her writhing against the shower wall, gasping with each push of his hips.

  Dangerous to let himself go like this, but it had been a long time since he had. And she could take it. He tended to frighten people when he was full-on, but she wasn’t frightened of him. No, she was arching against him, grinding that perfect ass of hers against his groin, wanting more.

  Just like she wanted to be his, even though she tried to deny it.

  You could be hers, too.

  Ah no, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d never belong to anyone. Jacob Night was his own man and that’s how it would stay. How it had to stay.

  He’d never be Jake Foster again.

  Her nails scraped across the tiles as his rhythm intensified, and he lost himself in the tight heat of her cunt and the slippery wet feel of her skin. She was panting now and so was he, their breathing harsh, mingling with the warm water and the steam.

  “You are mine,” he whispered roughly against her skin. “Tell me.”

  She gave a little sob, squirming and arching into him, desperate for release. “Yes . . . y-yes . . . please . . . Jacob, please . . .”

  “Whose are you?” He paused, deep inside her, wanting the words. He’d had them from Faith, but he wanted them from Joanna, too, so there could be no argument. So both of them were absolutely clear.

  “Yours.” She twisted in his grip, trying to move, but he held her off her feet and she couldn’t get any purchase. “I’m yours, J-Jacob.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes . . .” Her voice was thick, breathless. “Please, God, just fuck me already.”

  An intense, primitive kind of triumph shot through him and he smiled, his teeth at her neck. Oh yes, she was perfect. Just fucking perfect.

  “My pleasure,” he murmured.

  He began to move again, slamming into her, driving her against the wall of the shower, each thrust making him grunt and her gasp.

  It was hard, brutal, because that’s what he was. And he loved it that she took him. And when she dropped her hands to where his arm circled her waist, and dug her nails into his skin, scratching him, he loved that, too. Just like he loved the way she begged for more, for harder, for deeper, as if she wanted everything he did.

  But there was no “as if” about it. She did want what he did.

  So he gave it to her, everything she wanted. Releasing the back of her neck, he slid his hand down over her stomach, finding her clit with his fingers, stroking her relentlessly, until she screamed against the tiles, her pussy convulsing around his cock as she came.

  Then he released the hold he had on himself, driving into her, the shower stall shaking with the force of his thrusts, until the climax took him like a hammer blow, making his head ring and the room echo with the sound of her name.

  Afterward he leaned against the shower wall, still holding her, his face turned into her neck, her wet hair silky against his skin. He’d never felt unsteady on his feet before, but he did now, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever fucking move again.

  Certainly he was never going to let her go. That just wasn’t going to happen.

  “How are you feeling, Ms. Beasley?” he asked eventually, having to force his voice to work.

  “Like I can’t stand.” The words were slurred, as if she were drunk. “Did we break the shower?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “You’ll have to up your game in that case.”

  “Clearly.” He put one hand on the shower wall, leaning on it as he gently pulled out of her and lowered her back onto her feet. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She shook her head, standing now, but obviously in no hurry to go anywhere as she leaned into him. “I think I hurt your arm though.”

  He looked down over her shoulder to where his forearm lay over her stomach. There were scratches there and a thin line of blood.

  The sight hit him weirdly. She’d left her mark on him, like a claim, and there was a part of him that found that deeply satisfying. Which it shouldn’t. He didn’t want anyone claiming him, because he wasn’t anyone’s to claim.

  Oblivious, Faith made a small, contented sound, her head falling back against his shoulder, water streaming down her naked body. “You can probably stop calling me Ms. Beasley though. It’s getting weird.”

  Distracted from the scratches, he smiled and reached for the soap, keeping his hold on her. “Would you prefer Ms. Lynn?” He began to wash her gently. Not that she needed it since she was already clean, he just wanted to touch her.

  “No.” She gave a sensual little stretch, then twisted her head slightly so she could look up at him. Her face was flushed, blue eyes gone midnight. “I think you can drop the ‘Ms.’ and call me Faith.”

  Emotion caught in his chest. This meant something and he knew it, but he didn’t understand what, and for the first time in years, he couldn’t think of one fucking word to say.

  Instead he dropped the soap and curled his hand around her lovely throat, holding her turned toward him, then he kissed her. Hard.

  She made another of those sensual sounds, then twisted around so she was facing him, sliding her arms around his neck and arching her body into his. Her mouth was hot, open, and sweet, and he wanted to keep kissing her all fucking day.

  But after a moment, she pulled away, leaning back in his arms so she could look up at him. She didn’t say anything right away, keeping one arm around his neck, while with the other she touched him, stroking her hand over his shoulder and down over his left pec. Her fingers lingered on the snarling wolf’s head tattoo he had over his heart, her gaze lingering there too.

  “You said Jacob Night was there to protect other people from you,” she said at last, glancing up at him. “What did you mean by that?”

  Ah, yes. That. He hadn’t replied the night before, not wanting to get into it, distracting her easily enough with his mouth and his hands.

  But he could tell that wasn’t going to work now.

  Or maybe you don’t want to distract her now. Maybe you just want to tell her.

  It would be a mistake to let her know too much. Then again, he’d already told her things he shouldn’t have. And there was a part of him that chafed at his isolation. That wanted more. Even having one fucking person to talk to . . .

  But Jake Foster wanted that. And he killed people.

  No, fuck it. Talking to Faith didn’t mean he was back to being Jake again. He’d been Jacob too long, his control was all good. He was fine.

  “I’ve done bad things, sweet girl,” he said. “You know what I’m talking about. All those tours . . . They change people and usually for the worse. But I was fucked up going in, angry and full of hate. I had no control, no of
f switch. And I channeled all that bad shit into my Navy career and into the enemy.”

  She said nothing, but there was understanding in her eyes. Of course there would be. She’d been there too.

  “Then my career ended and I was made to disappear. But you can’t live like that in the civilian world. You can’t view every single person you meet as a target. So I had to become someone different, find a way of living that didn’t put people at risk. I had to channel all that anger into something else.”

  Slowly she pressed her palm to the wolf’s head, the warmth covering his skin. Over his heart. “The 11th Hour.”

  “Yes.”

  “And does that work?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “What do you do when it doesn’t?”

  He smiled. “Target practice. Punching bag. Running on the treadmill.”

  “If you need a partner, I could help.” The look in her eyes turned smoky. “I’m very hard to hurt.”

  Yes, physically. But emotionally?

  She’s vulnerable. Too vulnerable.

  He put his hand over hers where it rested on his chest. “I’ll take you up on it, believe me. But until then, we have a mission to complete.”

  One dark brow arched. “We?”

  His smile deepened, because she was beautiful and imperious and he wanted to fuck her again. “You had a plan for finding Joshua, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe.” She flexed her fingers on his chest. “Not sure I want to tell you about it though.”

  He laughed, then pushed her gently up against the back wall of the shower. “You’re going to tell me. You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes, really. My interrogation skills are excellent.” He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her rapidly hardening nipple. “Let’s see how long you can hold out, hmmm?”

  * * *

  Faith—yes, she could think of herself as Faith now—smoothed her black pencil skirt down over her knees and grimaced at the pinch of the high heels on her feet. She hadn’t noticed how irritating it was wearing such restrictive clothing a week ago—she hadn’t realized it even was restrictive—but she certainly did now.

  Then again, a week ago she hadn’t been planning on using herself as bait to get a very shady arms ring to come out of the woodwork.