by K. L. Kreig
But what makes me nearly shake with rage is wondering what the fuck he was doing here in the first place. Appearances would suggest he’s not wasting any time trying to snag her out from under me, but is that why he was here? To spread his unfounded poison? Did he show up unannounced or did Willow invite him? How long was he here? What did they talk about? Does she understand he’s trying to slot himself between us? Could she possibly want him back? Would I even blame her?
I’ve made no commitments to her. I’ve not told her how strong my feelings are. I’ve not told her how much she’s altered my life or how she utterly consumes my every thought. In just a few short weeks together this frustrating, secretive, perplexing woman has decimated every plan I laid out for my future.
When she asked me the other morning why her, why now, I didn’t know how to answer, mostly since I had no idea how to explain it. When I told her she captivates me like no one else has, that I feel something new for her, it was true. Every word of it.
But how do I tell her she’s the one I never saw coming? That she’s moved in. Taken up residence inside me without my knowledge, without my permission. Without even trying. How do I make her understand I see something in her I’ve not seen in another woman? Hell, it’s something I never wanted to see in a woman before.
Me.
What started out as a desperate need to sink my cock between her thighs until neither of us could move has twisted into something unexpected and fragile.
I love her.
I fucking love her.
Wholly unimaginable, yet here I am. Ditching yet another set of business meetings because, after my disturbing conversation with Annabelle, I needed to see Willow. Be with her. Soak in her sexy voice. Feel her skin against mine and relish the rapid beat of her heart pressed against my chest after I’ve fucked her hard and dirty. I need to solidify that shaky connection between us. The one that only grows stronger on my side but seems to fray apart on hers whenever she’s out of my sight.
Frustrated I’m still standing outside her closed door alone, I pound on it again and push the doorbell a few times in quick succession. I know she’s in there. Her car is in the driveway. Finally, I hear heavy footsteps. A moment later, the door flies open but instead of gazing into the sensual Caribbean seas I wanted, I’m staring into the fiery hickory ones of Willow’s roommate.
Last time I saw her, she had bright pink streaked through her midnight-black hair. That’s now gone, replaced with brilliant lavender tingeing the ends. Her face is makeup free, and without all the crap lining her eyes, she looks as though she could be somewhat approachable. But I know better. When the side of her lip quirks up into a slight sneer, she looks exactly as she did last time: protective and boorish.
“Sierra.” I nod, trying to catch a glimpse inside.
“Braveheart,” she quips. My junk shrinks at the blatant threat she made to dismember me the first time I met her. Leaning against the frame, she throws a glance over my shoulder where she has a direct line toward the street. When her eyes meet mine again something unspoken passes between us. “Interesting timing.”
Or not.
“Where’s Willow?” I demand, already tired of her not so indirect taunts.
She pins me with a heavy glare before sighing and stepping aside. “Porch. Through the kitchen.”
I breeze on past her, torn between wanting to set my starved eyes on Willow or demand she tell me if she has something against me personally or the entire species that wields a third member.
It’s a no-brainer, though. Willow wins. She will every time.
Quickly, I’m through the kitchen and, pushing my way out the screened door, I see no sign of her. But her surprised voice drifts from my left.
“Shaw? What are you doing here?”
When I swivel, she’s rising gracefully and starting toward me. For some reason, my eyes fall to the table beside her chair. Sitting there, like another goddamn insult, are two plates. One is empty, save for some crumbs, and one still holds the leftovers of a sandwich.
I know in the whole scheme of things it’s nothing, but he ate with her. He shared a meal and a conversation and I can’t even see straight right now with the feelings of jealousy that stirs in me. An emotion I was completely oblivious to before her.
Her gaze follows mine until together, they collide again midair, violently exploding.
“I think the better question is what was my father’s campaign manager doing here?” I know I growled, but fuck I am seething with fury. And I purposely didn’t use that asshole’s name. I’m not sure I could stand the pungent taste it would have coated my mouth with. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I bark, “I’m waiting.”
Those usually warm waters of hers ice over like the Arctic. No doubt an iceberg is building below the surface. “You talk to me like that again and you’ll be waiting a hell of a long time for anything. Especially an answer.”
Possessiveness rages inside me. He has parts of her I want. Lazy conversations. Inside jokes. Secret looks. Seemingly insignificant details that relationships are built on. It makes me crazed. Reckless. And decisions based on wild, thoughtless, rash intent never, ever end well.
She goes to scoop up the plates, but I’m faster. In a move I couldn’t have orchestrated ahead of time, I simultaneously kick the plastic chair out of the way, grab her, and spin her, pushing her against the outer wall. The dish she’d barely had between her fingers clatters to the table and I don’t even look to see if it broke. The irrational and out-of-control part of me hopes it did. And that it was Mergen’s.
Her chest is heaving. So is mine. Being this close to each other unleashes both of our beasts. They’re hungry, starved for what the other offers that neither can satiate with anyone else. I have to remember that as the haze of selfishness sits as heavy and encumbering on me as a wool blanket.
I open my mouth but she speaks over me. And god damn if it isn’t full of fire and scorching heat. I go from soft to raging hard before she finishes her sentence. “This feels very déjà vuish, Shaw. And I have to say I don’t like the way you’re acting like a jackass any better this time than I did the last.”
Shifting my stance, I cage her in completely. Her wrists are now trapped in my hands, shoved above her head. My legs are on the outside of hers, my thighs flexing to hold her in place. And my pelvis, thick with ferocity, is pressing into her soft middle, making her gasp.
My attention falls to that intricate necklace she always wears, resting in the concave of her slender throat. It stokes my ire up a thousand degrees when I remember how that bastard’s face looked when he took it in. Surprised recognition. Knowing it’s yet another link between them, I want to rip it off and replace it with something of mine. Something that ties her to me instead of him.
My mouth turns up. It’s wry and surly. Full of contempt for that motherfucker who’s trying to step between us. “Yes. I turn into quite the prick when I see another man blatantly coveting my possession.”
I did it. I used her words against her. Words she flung at me at La Petite last month when she told me to own her is to possess and that I would never possess her. Except I do. And she knows it. I possess her just as she now possesses every last shred of me, including my sanity.
I expect her to roar. To twist and squirm or try to ram the family jewels with her knee, but she stays still and steady, using that snarky mouth I love so much instead. The one I’m now aching to fill with my cock.
“Wow, Drive By. You run out of people to bully at the office, did you?”
“Why was he here?” I have no intention of letting this go. The need to know what he said is as sharp as the tip of a knife digging painfully into my chest. Did he tell her? Would she let me touch her if he did? Doubtful. “Besides to ogle my woman and eat a free lunch, that is.”
“Ogle your woman?” She edges her chin up and cocks a brow high, punctuating each word with force. It would be cute if I weren’t so damned angry. And horny. So fucking horny.
&
nbsp; She left me last night around nine. I’ve been away from her not even twenty-four hours, yet the time between yesterday and now has seemed like endless minutes of torture. Spending the weekend with her was both a blessing and a curse. I’m into her so deep now there is no way out without emotional ruin.
“Wasn’t he?” I challenge, knowing full well I’m right. And truth be told, scared shitless.
“Am I?” she fires back.
She has to know she’s wound me tighter than a child’s plaything. That I’m totally out of sorts because of her and how much she’s transforming me, more and more every single second.
My forehead drops to hers and I breathe in her titillating scent momentarily before gruffing, “You know you are, Willow. You’re mine. I thought we’d already established that.”
“Because I signed a binding agreement.”
Her reply is soft and torn, proving I was right to come when I did. She’s already trying to slam those fucking shutters closed again, no doubt by some not-so-subtle seeds planted by that fucker. And it pisses me the hell off. In fact, it ignites a volcano of unfounded emotion inside me so scorching I develop an instant case of verbal diarrhea, attempting to purge the foreign feeling.
“No. Because I’m in l—” I freeze, choking on the confession she almost wrenched from me. Say it, say it, my mind screams. Tell her you’re in love with her. Tell her Mergen can’t have her because she’s yours. She’ll be only yours from now to forever. But saying three words I won’t ever utter to another woman while we’re talking about another man feels sleazy and wrong. It feels manipulative.
“Because you’re…what?” She’s panting. Waiting. She knows I’m holding back, and the way skittishness and eagerness clash to brighten her eyes, I think she knows what I was about to declare. But once I say it, I can’t take it back. And while I’m sure what I’m feeling for her can’t be anything but love, when I tell her, it’s going to be on my terms. When I’m buried so deep I wrap her spirit in mine. When I’m making her scream my name. When I’m sure she won’t crush me.
So I do what I do best instead. My hold on her wrists tightens. I press them harder into the siding of the house as I shift my pelvis lower and thrust against her sweet spot until her eyes drift shut, a light moan escaping her lips. “This isn’t about the contract, Willow. This is about your ex wanting you back. Something you specifically told me would not happen.”
At that, her gaze slices back to me. The hurt now floating around the rims almost knocks me over. “I already told you this was sheer coincidence. He didn’t come looking for me.”
“Maybe not.” I know she’s right. He couldn’t fake his surprise any more than she could. “But now that he’s found you again, he’s figured out what a fucking idiot he was to let you go in the first place.”
Looking to my chest, she licks her lips, sucking the lower one inside that hot little mouth. Another nervous habit she does when I bring something up she doesn’t like.
“Why was he here?”
Glancing up from underneath those naturally spiky lashes, her tone is meant to lacerate when she snips, “To get a free lunch.”
“Mmm. Funny girl.” One I want to punish with a few orgasms withheld.
Tactical change. I’m pissing her off when all I want is her concession.
Dipping my head, I nuzzle her cheek until her head falls back against the house in heavenly surrender. “He can’t have you,” I whisper harshly against the shell of her ear.
“I don’t want him.”
Wrists still pinned between a palm, I draw my fingers lightly down the inside of one arm. I cup a breast, running my thumb over her now pebbled nipple until her breaths are choppy. Nibbling my way along her neck, I inhale her heady perfume, murmuring, “I don’t want him near you.”
“He’s just a friend,” she says in earnest.
Slipping my hand inside the front of her tiny gray gym shorts, I ignore her breathy “What are you doing?” because I’m both shocked and turned on when I find her bare pussy underneath the pads of my fingers.
My blood boils at the thought there was no barrier between her and campaign asshole except a thin layer of terry cloth. If he knew that, he would have been on his knees begging for a taste. Maybe even was.
I should turn her over my knee right here and blister her ass for that stunt, and I’ll probably do that later when I have her naked and spread-eagle. For now, though, I plan to punish her in other ways that may or may not get us arrested if the neighbors look out their back window.
“No, Goldilocks,” I push into her ear while sliding two fingers back and forth through her drenched slit. Spreading her arousal around smooth lips, I delight in the ragged whoosh that leaves her lungs when I plunge them inside without warning. I start to finger-fuck her right out in the open, uncaring who sees. “He wants to part these long, supple legs of yours and drive his tongue inside this dripping wet paradise until you’re coming on his face, your addictive juices sliding down his throat.”
I curl the tips of my fingers toward me and round her clit with my thumb, bathing in her full-body shudder.
“God, Shaw,” she pants as she scoots closer to climax. Her pelvis rolls back and forth with abandon, same as it did that first night I fucked her this way in my kitchen.
Clamping her fleshy lobe—hard—between my teeth, I soothe it with gentle sucks before continuing. “When he’s wrung you dry, trust me, Willow, he wants to shove his cock so far in you, he moves in. Makes your sweet pussy his permanent home. He wants to brand you with his seed and take your heart prisoner. He wants to lock it up and throw away the fucking key so it’s his forever.”
Jesus. The thought of that is excruciating. Almost debilitating.
I want those things. The same ones he does.
I want her body. Her soul. Her divinity. Her love and devotion. I want to dominate her mind, rule her soul, eat her cries every morning for breakfast.
Leaning back, I watch her sex-hazed eyes blink open, settling to where they’re hooded and glazed and begging with the need to come. Her pussy is clenching hard now. My dick pounds relentlessly against the zipper of my dress slacks. I need to adjust the metal so it’s not piercing my hard flesh, but I’m not about to stop the momentum.
“But he can’t have that, Willow,” I tell her pointedly, taking her to heights I know only I can.
She doesn’t speak. She can’t. She’s long gone in that empty space right before euphoria hits. But she’s listening. Hearing every word I’m saying.
“He can’t have any of those because they’re all mine, you hear me? They’re mine, aren’t they? Say it,” I demand, now wanting a reply. Needing it.
Just as she’s cresting, I stop dead in my tracks. She whimpers, forcing herself against my rigid hand, trying to take what she needs. But it’s mine to give and I’m not handing it over until she tells me what I want to hear. I let go of her wrists and grip her hip, halting her. It’s rough, probably bruising.
“Answer me, beautiful.”
She nods, lips parted slightly.
“Every fucking one of those things belongs to me, doesn’t it?” I demand at the same time I put the slightest amount of pressure back on her clit. Her arms fall to mine, nails deliciously digging in.
“Yes,” sails out on a wispy breath.
“Has he ever made you feel this way, Willow? Strung so tight you think you’ll snap in two? Simultaneously stretching for that goal but never wanting to reach it? Never wanting the pleasure to end because it feels that fucking good?”
She’s so close I can taste it. That honeyed flavor floats up and lands on my taste buds. I lick my dry lips, trying to catch more of it. Wishing my tongue was buried in her pussy instead of my hand.
“Has he?” I prod.
“Never,” she mumbles, knowing I won’t let her fall without it. Her hips fight against my hold, but her soft beseeching does me in. “Please, Shaw. God…please.”
Part of me wants to string her out. Drive her to the l
edge of bliss, stop and watch her fall back toward me before doing it over and again. She’s so beautiful when she’s completely at my mercy. Malleable, needy, and wild. But I think my control of her in the bedroom is merely an illusion. Willow holds all the cards and can get me to do anything she wants by simply asking, whether it’s with her sassy mouth, her bewitching eyes, or this tight pussy that’s currently squeezing the blood to my wrist.
This time our needs happen to align, though. I want to watch her lose the battle and dive headfirst into an explosive release I created. I move faster then, press harder and command her, “Come now, beautiful. Come for me. I want your scent to soak into my skin so I smell you for days.”
She looks straight into my eyes, into me, and does as I ask.
She soars. Flies right in my arms. She cries my name. Shakes and convulses until her muscles weaken. Until she sags, spent, between my body and the wall she’s still pinned against.
It’s beautiful and brilliant.
It’s awe-inspiring.
Sacred.
It’s a precious gift and one I will not walk away from in this lifetime, or the next.
Chapter 6
My body is limp as Shaw carries me through the house and up the stairs. I barely get to enjoy the strength of his hold or the flex of his muscles as he takes them two by two and slams the door to my bedroom shut with his foot. My blood still buzzes delectably with the effects of the orgasm he gave me less than thirty seconds ago when he drops me onto the twisted, unmade sheets of my bed.
He looks nowhere but at me when he unapologetically husks, “I need to be inside you, Willow.”
He tears at his tie until it’s hanging loosely around his neck. He rips the buttons on his dress shirt apart with vicious jerks. He shucks his dress pants with efficiency and, having thrown everything haphazardly over the edge of my dresser, stands before me in nothing but his tight, sexy-as-sin navy boxer briefs. When he reaches inside and strokes himself, my whole body liquefies.
