Endgame

by Mia Downing

  He raised his chin, probably because it was a challenge. Andersons were like roosters. They didn’t back down from a fight, no matter how stupid. He didn’t look very confident, though. “Go for it.”

  “How many women have you fucked, Aaron?”

  “Two.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve fucked one man, and he was my husband.”

  She delighted in watching Aaron pale. And cringe.

  “How many women have you kissed, Aaron?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve kissed five men, one woman, in this order—my husband, Jake, Chase, some bastard who wanted to kill me, and you. I’ve kissed Tia because I had to, again for work. Except for my husband, all of them were work-related. Including you. The wedding counts, because I was on duty.”

  She swore she could hear his knees quake.

  “I’ve blown one man—my husband. Sucking you didn’t count. Two men have felt me up intimately—again, my husband, and now you. How many women have you fondled and kissed for your job, Aaron? Your job and my job aren’t so far apart. But you kiss for money and I kiss because I might die.”

  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re fucking judgmental, and the only reason why you are alive right now is because you are Jake’s brother. Unfortunately, my physical need for you overrides my need to kill you. At this moment. Be aware that status may change, and if it does, you are one dead, snotty punk.”

  “You’re not serious about killing me.” Oh, he still wanted to win this, she could see it in his eyes. That stubborn streak wanted to come out on top.

  “Oh, I am. I’ve killed a lot of men, Aaron. For less than what you’ve implied.”

  He looked shell-shocked. “Were you always this…mean?”

  “No.”

  “I take it the blowjob is now off the table.”

  “You’re a smart man.”

  He closed his eyes, sighed, and the smug, cocky, judgmental attitude he had dished out before dissipated. He stood, embarrassed, ashamed, shoulders rolled, his eyes on his feet instead of her face. “I’m sorry.”

  Yes, he would be very sorry. Charlotte assessed him, weighed his merits. If he were just a guy on the street, there’d be no scale of justice. He’d just be dead and bleeding out on the floor of his closet. After almost dying and losing everything that mattered to her, she no longer suffered fools gladly.

  But he was Jake’s brother. He did have quite the crappy few years. From what Jake told her, he’d been a really good kid. Incredibly smart and gifted. Shy and awkward in the midst of four older, confident, ball-twisting brothers. It had to have destroyed a part of him to realize he’d chosen the wrong path in life, and that she understood. Maybe this anger was his way to shield himself from any more heartache. She got that.

  But it was time to grow up. He would learn to submit to her, to give up his power, to be polite and gentle instead of angry. He would learn to channel that anger into pleasing her. And maybe eventually, he would be in control enough for her to trust him. For her to give him her reins and let him be in control.

  She stood, stepped forward, and stabbed her finger into his hard chest. “You will be punished for this. If you wish to salvage any kind of a sexual relationship, you will pay. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced at his pants, deliciously tented. My, he was quite magnificent. “You’re still hard, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will go to bed and you will not jack off. Do you understand? The only orgasm you will get is from me. If I find out you’ve taken that pleasure from me, it’s over. And trust me, I will know.”

  He flinched like she had hit him. “Jesus, that’s harsh.”

  “You were harsh. You were an asshole, and I’m angry right now. So you will pay. You will go to bed, and you will think of how angry I am, and in the morning, you will apologize properly. To me and Jake. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” He sounded and looked about four. Glaring, mulish, his hands in balls. Oh, he’d have to get that out of his system mighty quickly if he wanted sex with her.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes…Ma’am?”

  “Very good.”

  Chapter Four

  Aaron couldn’t say he woke the next morning, because he really hadn’t slept. Not with a raging hard-on that begged to be stroked and sucked by pink, mean lips. If he’d been less of an asshole to Charlotte, he could have had an excellent blowjob. His dick knew it would have been excellent. Hot. Wet. Suction. Tongue. His cock raged again and if it had a brain, it would have been pissed as hell at him.

  He was an asshole. He didn’t think she was a whore or loose or anything like that. He’d been scared, and when he got scared, the filter left and stupidity flowed from his brain to his mouth unchecked. He wasn’t pure of thought, obedient, and he wasn’t one to think things through.

  But the whole sex thing scared the crap out of him, thanks to Paul, his twin. His virginity had been taken by a kinky older sister of one of Paul’s freak friends when he was sixteen. Handcuffed to the bed, sucked off with her teeth, flogged, and then ridden into oblivion. It had been scary as hell.

  It shouldn’t have been, but he was the chicken shit Anderson and everything scared him as a kid. And sex with Monica had definitely ruined him for another woman until Celia, and now Charlotte.

  His virgin experience scared him enough to want to become a priest. Which was fucked up all on its own. But in his mind, at that time, if he was a priest, no one would have sex with him. Eventually, he figured out that God didn’t want him to be a priest for that very reason. After much soul searching and prayer, he realized he was an Anderson, plain and simple. He was hardwired for sex, and therefore, could not hide any longer.

  That didn’t make leaving the seminary any easier. Nor did it make having sex any easier. Moving to L.A. had been hard, with all the beach beauties and starlets. It was like being in a bakery with gluten intolerance and wanting nothing more than to eat the whole store, but he was afraid of the pain. The thought of sex really did make him sick to his stomach at times.

  But dancing with Charlotte had made him hornier than hell. And after going to England, he’d fooled around enough with Celia on the set to feel comfortable that she wouldn’t scare the shit out of him. The sex had been pretty fast, him on top, not much more than a boob grope because she’d been good to go. Too bad all he could think of was Charlotte.

  Aaron didn’t get his attraction to Charlotte at all. She was…scary, in a different, aggressive way. But his cock jumped at the mere idea of smelling her again, holding her, kissing her. He could probably come if thought of her mouth on his cock, that one, decadent suck up his shaft. But she had said no orgasm. So…he didn’t go there.

  His balls ached and he just wanted to kill Charlotte. Let her be trampled by unicorns and winged ponies and other girly shit she’d hate. Bury her in a pink, lacy, dolled-up coffin.

  But then he remembered he was supposed to be repenting. Jake said she had baggage, so if she let him know that tidbit, then that was her carry-on bag. Tip of the iceberg so to speak.

  She’d been married, had only slept with her husband. Somehow that man was gone from her life, and it was a source of pain for her. There had to be more. If he found that baggage, spinning on the carousel, would she let him carry it for a bit? And if he carried it, would he finally get to make love to her instead of fuck her?

  Noises in the kitchen told him the houseguests were up, so he rose, went down to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth in case she decided to blow him after he apologized. He was hard enough to try for real this time, even after a cold shower.

  He hoped like hell he would do it right—apologize. He wanted to make her happy, because something told him that Charlotte needed to be happy.

  Aaron padded in quietly. Charlotte perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, her back to him. She sipped coffee and rattle
d on to Jake in some language. Not English. Or French. Russian? Jake laughed and responded in the same language, and it was surreal. Jake had failed French in high school. Hadn’t he?

  “Good morning, baby cowboy,” Jake said from the stove, in English. His brother was wearing his apron and cooking…pancakes?

  “Since when do you cook?” Aaron eyed the pancakes. They actually looked good. “And fuck you. I’m no one’s baby.”

  Charlotte gave him a cool glare over her shoulder and went back to sipping. Aaron had the distinct feeling he would not be welcomed at the breakfast bar. Not until he apologized.

  Jake set a plate piled high with perfect pancakes on the counter. “Since Tia decided I needed to learn how not to burn food. She’s taught me breakfast and one dinner thing. Fettuccini Alfredo. It’s an improvement, she says. I’m to experiment with baking things from boxes while I’m here. Brownies and shit like that.”

  “Tell Tia I love her,” Charlotte said.

  “Yeah, I’m not baking just for you, iron pig. Make sure you share.”

  “Since when do you speak…whatever?” Aaron stared at Jake. “And have facial hair? And brown eyes?”

  His brother sounded like his brother, but he no longer looked anything like Jake, or Aaron, or…anyone. He sported a small beard and mustache, all very realistic. Brown eyes—contacts. His long hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail.

  Jake stiffened a bit as he put some pancakes on a separate plate and slid it toward Aaron. “That was Russian.”

  “You can’t speak English in front of me?”

  “For this, no.” Jake shot him a warning glance. “Don’t ask, Aaron. I know you’re a nosy son of a bitch, but just don’t ask and things will be easier. Let us do our jobs. Please.”

  This was his life, damn it. They had no right to speak in tongues just to keep him out of the loop. Aaron bristled. “Fuck—”

  Charlotte cleared her throat. Aaron glared but shut his mouth. She arched a brow over cold, violet eyes.

  His ire lost heat and slid into a puddle in his feet. Fuck. He was supposed to be apologizing, and the last time he checked, “I’m sorry,” didn’t start with fuck.

  Aaron swallowed. Damn his impulsive mouth.

  She reached around, removed the gun from the holster she wore at the small of her back and gently set it on the counter. Next to her very full plate of pancakes. In warning.

  He gulped. Do it or die? Holy shit, this woman was intense. His cock loved every moment of it, too, rock-hard still, throbbing at the sight of those long, feminine fingers using a butter knife. He hoped sex was just as hot, though the mere thought of it made him alternate between wanting to come or run.

  Aaron stared at the cold blackness of the gun against the creamy marble and swallowed his pride. “Jake, I’m sorry for being an asshole. I—”

  Jake waved the spatula. “No need to apologize. We’re good.”

  Charlotte cleared her throat again. “Let him.”

  Jake arched his brows. “What? No, we’re good.”

  “Jake.” Charlotte leaned forward on the bar. “This is anger management. He needs to apologize, because I said he had to.” She spoke clearly, enunciating every word as if Jake were an idiot.

  Jake stared at her for a long moment, and something odd passed between the two. Jake’s eyes widened. “You’re not.”

  “I am.”

  “Jesus, Charlotte.”

  “Don’t put the ball in my court if you don’t want the game played by my rules. One of the rules was he had to apologize to you. Let him.”

  Aaron had no clue what just happened, but he had a feeling that the coach had just challenged the referee in a rules violation battle. He wasn’t sure who was which or who had won. Not yet. But he bet his money on the ginger with the gun.

  “Okay, Aaron. Apologize.” Jake sighed, because obviously, he just lost the battle, hands down.

  Aaron cleared his throat and recited the lines he had practiced, in the dark, over his raging hard-on. “I’m sorry for being an asshole. I’m sorry you had to leave Tia and come here, to clean up my mess. I will be agreeable and try to make this job as easy as possible so you can go home quickly.” He glanced at Charlotte. She didn’t look satisfied. Not yet.

  Fuck if he liked to improvise, but here it went. “I’m sorry for being judgmental and I promise to think before I speak.”

  That seemed to make her happy, because she gave a small nod and put her gun away.

  Jake’s brows flew up. “You two kids had quite the chat last night I’m guessing. Instead of going to sleep.”

  Aaron shrugged. “Keep your imagination in your pants. No rosaries were said.”

  Charlotte glowered. Aaron broke out into a cold sweat and ignored her gun.

  Jake laughed. “Apology accepted. What’s on the agenda for today?”

  “Nothing until next week. I’m supposed to be on vacation. But you might want to talk to my agent about all of this and about Charlotte. She’ll love the girlfriend angle, since she’s always trying to get me to drum up tabloid chatter.”

  “I’ll have Chase call. I have to get an itinerary, anyway. If he gets everything from your agent, it will be more complete,” Jake said.

  “You mean it will be less work, slacker,” Charlotte chided.

  Jake finished up cooking and glanced at the clock. “I have work to do. I’ll return in a bit.” He took off the apron, kissed Charlotte’s pale cheek and left.

  The silence in the kitchen fell at a speed that would break very silent sound barriers. Aaron frowned, because that didn’t sound quite right. But what did when his cock still throbbed, wanting him to apologize so she’d blow him? He was ready to try that, despite his fear. More importantly, the good man in him wanted him to apologize, because he had been an asshole. Hardcore, as Jake and Charlotte liked to say. And that was wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte. Really sorry for being an asshole.”

  She cocked her head. “Are you? Or is that the raging stiffy in your pants giving tongue?”

  How his stiffy wanted her tongue. On him. Badly. “I was wrong to be angry. I was judgmental. You were right.”

  She nodded and studied his face for what seemed an eternity, her eyes sharp, not missing a thing.

  “I didn’t think you were a whore, though. I was…nervous.”

  “Okay.” She cocked her head. “Did you touch yourself last night, love?”

  “No.”

  She arched a brow.

  “No…Ma’am?”

  She nodded. “And what did you think about all night long.” He hesitated, and she cocked her head. “The truth, Aaron. I’ll know if you lie.”

  Did he even dare go there? But she said the truth… “I thought about killing you.”

  She laughed, a genuine, pretty, feminine sound that touched deep in his chest in a weird way. “Very honest. As Jake would say, the line starts over there. Do your worst.”

  Though she didn’t ask for more, he wanted to share for some reason. Maybe it would put him in her good graces. “I also thought about your baggage and your husband.”

  “If you were smart, you wouldn’t snoop in my baggage.” So much for good graces. Danger Girl seemed to step up to the plate with stiff shoulders and glittering violet eyes.

  It made him nervous again, and that damned impulsive tongue of his didn’t know when to keep still. “Did he leave you? Divorce you? Tell me.”

  She sucked in a breath. He wouldn’t have thought violet would be a fiery color. Man, did those eyes burn into his, over his skin, making him wish for a fire extinguisher. “Aaron, do you know what submissive means?”

  “No. Well, yes.” He thought and shook his head. “No.”

  She nodded and rose from her stool. She stood before him with her arms crossed over her perfect breasts. “Do you want that blowjob, Aaron?”

  “Yes?” His cock screamed yes. It was still a disturbing thought, one that made him tremble a little.

  “Then you need to knee
l before me and be submissive. Right now, you’re not on a good path with me. I don’t trust you enough to share my past with you, never mind my bed. You’re going to learn to be polite, to leave your judgment at the door, and most of all, you’re going to learn not to ask questions of Jake or myself.”

  Oh shit. For once, his tongue glued itself to the top of his very dry mouth. His blood raced again, his cock filled with that blood, and his mind screamed for his legs to move. Run. Because this was kinky shit. Unfortunately, his dick had an anchor that kept him rooted to the spot.

  “Kneel,” she said, her voice as hard as the metal on her gun. Cold.

  “But—”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “If you want a blowjob, you will submit willingly.”

  “This sounds like kinky blackmail.” He swallowed, fear billowing up through this lungs and out his mouth in a whoosh of air. Why a woman so scary would excite the hell out of him, he had no clue. But this felt way too close to his virgin sexual experience.

  “It’s a reward. You do as I ask, I reward you. It’s that simple.”

  Was it that simple?

  “Aaron. Submit or I will walk out of this house, get on a plane, and you will have to deal with Jake and Chase. I would kill you, but I am not feeling in the paperwork mood. So instead, you’ll deal with my boys.”

  Fuck, no. He wasn’t dealing with Chase or Jake. But he didn’t want to kneel, either. It went against every grain in his body. Every cell.

  She pinned that hard gaze on him, and suddenly he wanted to do whatever she said, very badly. He bent his knees and lowered himself to the tiled floor, heart pounding like a jackhammer.

  “Head down. Hands on your thighs, palms up. You can sit back on your heels.”

  He did as he was told, feeling very…vulnerable. And hot. So hot to do as he was told for a change, to be under her control. His cock throbbed as her sandaled feet appeared in his vision, and he wanted nothing more than to suck those hot pink, big toes.

  “You will not speak unless spoken to and then you will address me as Ma’am. Do you understand?”

  “Yes…Ma’am.”