She had a feeling if she lived the dream of a life where he was in it for decades, in one way or another everything would be her choice.
Which would be his choice.
Okay, yes.
Her mind was no longer crystal clear.
She was terrified.
She was also Sixx.
And Simone might fall apart (she wouldn’t know, she’d never allowed Simone to handle anything too intense … or anything at all).
But Sixx …
Now Sixx could handle anything.
At least until it was time to bail—however that bailing needed to be to protect herself, protect Simone.
Or in this case, to protect Stellan.
In the meantime, he had to know.
And before she chickened out, she had to tell him.
“You make me happy too,” she blurted.
His fingers dug in at the ball of her foot.
“You should know that,” she said when he said nothing. “And the biggest part of that is knowing that I give it to you.”
His dark look and the dark words that came after did beautiful things to her.
“Get up, bend over the table, lift my shirt to your waist and pull your panties down to your thighs.”
She was frozen in the beauty.
“I thought we weren’t playing,” she whispered.
“We’re not,” he replied smoothly. “We’re fucking. Or I’m fucking you. Now do as you’re told, Simone.”
She did as she was told, wet and ready for him before he moved in behind her, placed a hand firm on the small of her back, the other curled around her hip, and drove his cock inside.
Instantly, she was lost in him, happily lost being filled with him, connected to him, one with him, and that didn’t change when he started thrusting and ordered, “You don’t come. You’re bent over and on offer for me, darling. If you earn it, I’ll let you come tomorrow.”
God, beauty.
“This isn’t playing?” she asked, her voice wispy.
“You’ll understand the difference,” he answered, pounded in, stayed in, ground in, waited for her moan, and finished, “tomorrow.”
Sixx said no more.
She let him use her. She got off on letting him use her. She thrilled at beating back her own response while listening to him build his. Holding steady, pulsing tight around him to give him more, listening to his soft sigh but feeling his thrusts intensify as he came inside her, and glorying in the invasive caress that was him slipping in and out as he came down.
He slid all the way in and bent over her to say softly, “Breakfast then movies here. You get one pick. I get one pick. And we’ll agree on a pick. Then we’ll have a nice dinner out here by the pool.”
That sounded like the perfect day.
She started counting.
Now she was at seven perfect days. Seven. The first seven of her imperfect life.
“Works for me,” she murmured, eyes closed, feeling his breath at her neck, his chest warm against her back, his cock still buried deep, not caring even a little that her clit was buzzing, her nipples tingling, her thighs quivering with the aftermath of holding back an orgasm.
Because she’d given him his.
And honest to God, that was all she needed.
* * *
Sixx moved down the hallway toward Stellan’s office.
It was later. After their movie spree in his at-home theater. After they’d gorged on snack food and she’d made him watch Man on Fire, he’d made her watch No Country for Old Men, and thus feeling in a Coen Brothers mood, they’d ended it watching Fargo. After that, they’d trudged back up for Stellan to start dinner only to get interrupted by a phone call, “I really can’t ignore it, sweetheart. Back in a bit.”
He’d then taken off, leaving things happening in the kitchen, and since Sixx knew nothing about what happened in a kitchen, she went off to find him to ask about what she should do with the stuff he left happening in the kitchen.
She didn’t think he’d mind if she interrupted him.
She was getting the feeling he wouldn’t mind anything when it came to her.
But she didn’t make it to his office.
Because he was in the library.
Sixx was still in the yellow underwear and his shirt. He was still only wearing his lounge pants. That day was a day of togetherness and decadence, and she was wearing makeup, but other than that, for both of them, the day had been all about the chill.
Until she saw him standing in the library, his tan, muscled back to her, the span of those broad shoulders, his amazing ass encased in those beautifully fitting lounge pants, one arm up and cocked, hand holding the phone to his ear, head turned, looking down, one arm out, finger touching the cover of her sketchpad.
Sixx stopped moving.
She also stopped breathing.
That sketchpad was one of twelve. The other eleven were filled from cover to cover with all the foul shit she’d seen, she’d done, she’d heard bragged about, she’d heard whispered about. From when she was a little girl and her first living memory was watching her mother stitch up a gunshot graze on her father’s thigh in their tiny kitchen, a wound he got for reasons she was too young to ever know, to various incarnations of her saving that little girl, doing all the things she had to do to keep her safe and protected and innocent and loved.
Sixx was the one who’d seen all those things, not Simone.
Sixx was the one who’d done all those things so Simone wouldn’t have to.
Heard the things.
Lived the things.
Every adventure left a scar on Sixx that would never heal. All over fictional Sixx’s body—her back, chest, legs, arms, face—there were scars.
Fictional Sixx in her sketchpads was a walking healed wound, a miracle of a still-existing, still-ready-for-the-fight hero, even after what she’d endured, determined to keep going because if she didn’t, Simone would have to face those realities.
And standing in the hall, having padded there unnoticed on bare feet, she saw in his profile precisely how badly Stellan wanted to open that sketchbook. Open the cover that opened the window to her psyche, exposing everything, exposing the entirety of the mess he’d taken on, exposing the wounds that were inflicted deep down inside that could never heal.
She almost cried out, screamed, stomped in and demanded to know what the fuck he was doing.
She didn’t because Stellan skated his fingers across the cover of the pad then turned away, moving to the window, speaking in low tones on his phone, stopping to look out at his fabulous landscaping.
It was then she knew.
It was then she knew that of course he wouldn’t.
Of course Stellan wouldn’t break her trust like that, trespass in places he knew she didn’t want him to be, betray her in a manner he knew she couldn’t forgive.
Of course not.
He’d wait.
Wait for her to offer it to him.
Wait for it like it was a gift he lived to receive.
Sixx sucked in breath and forced herself to walk on unsteady legs to the kitchen. She turned everything off. If it was ruined, it was ruined. Stellan would start again without getting upset, or he’d go out and get them something. With her, he was that even-keeled.
A ruined dinner he’d spent time preparing was nothing.
Sixx thinking she had anything to do with her friends dying at her uncle’s hand, now that was worth getting pissed and in her face about.
She walked out to the patio, went to the remote that controlled practically everything, including the pool light and the water feature. She turned both on then went to a lounge, curled in it, legs tucked tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and watched the halogen pool light lazily navigate a variety of different colors. Purple. Blue. Green. Red. Purple. Blue. Green. Red.
“Simone.”
She didn’t jump, even if she hadn’t noticed him joining her.
She just tipped her head back
and looked up at him.
“I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to disturb you on your call, so I just turned everything off,” she told him.
“It’s pasta. It’s fine. If it’s ruined, I’ll cook more,” he replied impatiently, then got to what he wanted to talk about, she knew with the intense look he had focused on her face. “Are you all right?”
She was not.
She wanted to show him. She wanted to be brave enough to take him to her sketchpads and hand them over and give herself to him fully. Show him the unrelenting ugly. Show him how he was the first real beauty she’d had in her life. Show him how Carlo was a prankster, a pain in her ass, a part of her life who could disappear, but even so, he’d always be there when she needed him. Show him that Aryas was the first person she’d ever truly trusted.
Show him that he had already hit her sketchpads, and he was going to be the second.
Show him everything.
He’d be able to handle it.
She was not a mighty Goliath, capable of facing everything, not once sustaining a scar.
He was.
And in superhero land there were two ways that could go.
He was either the hero’s source of strength, the calm in the storm, the safe haven that was always there to return to.
Or he was her mortal weakness. The being the cyclone of evil out there was always threatening to destroy. The being she loved the most, and no matter how strong he was, he would be lost to it, and when he was, it would break her.
And that would be a wound that would never heal.
So she’d have to keep him safe.
And to do that, she had to stay away from him, lose him, sacrifice their love so he could go on without her to live the life he deserved.
“Simone,” he called, his voice sharp with worry, his body angling down to sit on the lounge at her feet. He wrapped a strong hand with his long, elegant fingers around her ankle and ordered, “Talk to me.”
Tell him, tell him, tell him! her mind screamed.
She turned her gaze to the pool.
“I’m just trying to get used to it,” she said.
“Used to what?” he asked.
“Just … everything.”
Coward, her mind sneered.
“Give me an example of ‘everything,’” Stellan demanded.
“We watched movies all day, me in my underwear, you in what amounts to pajamas,” she explained.
“And?” he pressed.
“I’ve never done that.” She looked from the pool to him. “I’ve never had that brand of awesome.”
“So you’re sitting out here, looking lost and alone, reflecting about a day you thoroughly enjoyed?” he asked, like he wanted confirmation that she was as insane as she sounded.
“Baby,” she said quietly, “you signed on for the mess. You’re not allowed to question it.”
“Sorry, darling, I absolutely signed on, but that was not a caveat.”
He was right. It was not.
Wishful thinking never worked for her either.
“This has been a great day,” she declared.
“And so you’re by my pool brooding.”
Her back went straight. “Men brood. Women ponder.”
His lips twitched and he amended, “And so you’re by my pool pondering.”
“Yes, pondering how a day can be this perfect and you can be this annoying because you’ve given me a perfect day.”
He burst out laughing.
She loved the look, the sound, everything.
But she glared at him.
Still chuckling, he stated, “So you’re not out here pondering. You’re out here thinking about how dead set you were against this deal we have, and it hasn’t been a full week, but you like it here, you like being with me, you’re happy, so now you know how very wrong you were, and this means you’re pouting.”
“Don’t gloat, handsome. It’s unbecoming,” Sixx retorted.
He continued chuckling as his hand slid up the inside of her calf and he leaned toward her, this taking all her attention.
“Would you like to sit out here continuing to ponder about how I was very right regarding how spectacular we are together,” he asked in a silken drawl. “Thus how you were very wrong. And how much more spectacular we’re going to be after I play with you tomorrow, something you know because you can’t even take my hand on your calf without giving everything away. Doing all this while I go in and cook more pasta so we can eat?”
“It’s your self-appointed role to give me everything I might desire, and you’ve done a bang-up job so far so no sense stopping. Therefore, yes. As it’s been two full hours since we ate up all Margarita’s fabulous homemade salsa with those chips, food would be good,” she returned, making him continue to laugh softly, which was her intention entirely.
Stellan slid his hand down the inside of her thigh and she shivered.
Which didn’t make him stop laughing, but the sound of it turned to something far more affecting.
“Ponder all you want, darling. I’ll be inside boiling pasta and waiting,” he purred.
“Stop turning me on when you’re not going to let me come when we start getting it on,” she shot back.
“Oh,” he murmured, his fingers gliding in a there-and-gone touch across the gusset of her panties that she knew he didn’t miss were soaked with her wet, and probably didn’t miss his nearly imperceptible touch made them wetter, “I advise you get used to that, Simone. But I have a feeling you’ll not learn to like it, you’ll learn to love it because you like it very much already.”
“Tease,” she snapped somewhat breathlessly.
“Temptress,” he whispered in return.
Before it could go on any longer, he bent in and kissed her knee before he squeezed the inside of her thigh affectionately and straightened from the lounge.
“Come in when you’re ready,” he murmured, giving her a tender, loving smile before he sauntered away with his confident swagger in those lounge pants that at just a glance made her wet(ter).
He gives you everything, and you give nothing, her mind pointed out. How are you going to keep him if you take and don’t give?
“That’s the point precisely,” she muttered to the door Stellan entered, watching through the windows as he moved to the kitchen.
So it’s better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all? It was a scoff.
“No,” she looked back to the pool. “It’s better to give the little I can give before he gets too deep and then get the fuck out of his life so he can find someone who deserves to have him.”
You’re a fool.
“I’m a hero,” she told the mellow rotation of tranquil colors of the pool. “We’ll do anything, sacrifice it all, to protect the ones we love.”
Her inner tormenter had nothing to say to that.
Then again, she knew all too well that was just plain true.
* * *
Sixx liked taking Stellan like this best of all.
On her belly, her legs spread wide, his cock driving deep, his body covering hers, his face in her neck, his arms around her, fingers touching her, teasing her, driving her crazy.
Second best was missionary or riding him with him sitting up. It was vanilla, but she didn’t care. She liked face-to-face, getting to watch him, seeing how much he got off on watching her.
She liked how she was taking him now more, though. She could feel his power better like this, his chest pressed to her back, his hips pounding into her ass, his cock thrusting deep, his breath rough on her skin, his warmth everywhere.
She was his like this. Hers only to offer, but his to take, to use, to give only what he wished and have anything he wanted.
She was not allowed to come. He’d told her that when they started, and he was pushing her, testing her, training her in a way she knew that when they got down to serious playing, her endurance had to be at a point she could take whatever he wished to give.
So tha
t night she’d already held it through him eating her, spending so much time on her nipples, it was beautiful torture, and now this …
Having him, his cock, his power, knowing she’d also get his cum, having to hold on to control that felt constantly like it was slipping, heavily greased with the need he’d built, made it straight-up painful not to be able to let go. Not only from all he’d done, but mostly because he was going to go over the edge and she’d feel it, hear it, have his seed deep inside her, and she couldn’t go with him.
It was astounding.
And it wasn’t even play. Not Stellan’s kind of play.
It was preparation.
So tomorrow was going to be insane.
Sixx couldn’t wait.
With every lover she’d had it had been about taking.
Except with Aryas. With Aryas it had been about trust.
With Stellan it was about giving.
Giving the only thing she had.
So she had to bite her inner lip when she felt and heard him taking himself there, holding her in his arms as he did it, and she had to close her eyes and brace her whole body when she heard him slip over, clutching her close, burying himself as deep as he could get.
She had to steel herself even as she listened to him coming down, his breaths steadying, his face stuffed in her neck, his fingers leisurely keeping at their torment.
Finally, he pulled out and rolled to his back, but immediately he hauled her on top of him and trapped her in his arms.
Sixx rested her forehead against his throat.
She was going to draw this moment in her book, graphically, vividly, her legs straddling his thigh, his arms tight around her, his cum gliding out of her and onto his skin.
Eventually, he drifted a hand down to trail his fingers at her upper ass.
“How are you, darling?” he murmured.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m excellent.”
“Then I’m that too.”
His fingers stopped trailing and moved to grip her at her waist.
They usually fell asleep like this. Unless they’d made love in the morning and were getting up to get ready to face their days, after Stellan had come inside her, she kept him there. Unless she had to, she never wanted to wash him away.
So when his grip eased and he was simply holding her, his chest moving with his steady breaths moving her, she was lulling to sleep, thinking he was doing the same, when he spoke.
The Greatest Risk Page 22
