Bennett

by Sybil Bartel

  “No, you can’t,” I ground out.

  He looked at me with newfound determination. “I’ll do rehab on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “If I don’t come out better, if I don’t come out fixed, you fucking end this.”

  Jesus fuck. “I’m not—”

  “I’m not asking you to kill me. Commit me, put me in jail, just do whatever the fuck you have to. Make sure I don’t hurt her or anyone else again. Deal?”

  I could live with that. “Deal, but only if we do this legally. I’ll get my lawyer to draw up a contract, giving me power of attorney in the event I need to commit you. I want this done right. I don’t want Elyssia to have to go through any more shit.”

  He drew in a deep breath and pain lanced across his face. “Fine. Make it happen.”

  I nodded. “All right.”

  He exhaled. “I guess having a rich fuck as a friend comes in handy.”

  “We’re friends now?”

  His good eye looked at me, clear and unwavering. “Yeah.”

  “Then fucking act like it. No more shit about me and Elyssia. Be happy for her.”

  Marcus nodded. “Fine, but if you break her heart or pull her into the media circus that’s your life now, I’ll fucking kill you.”

  “You really think you’re in a position to threaten me?” He owed Crowd a shitload of money.

  A smile with zero humor tipped one side of his mouth. “You haven’t paid Crowd yet. I don’t have to be nice yet.”

  “Start fucking practicing.” I didn’t know if I wanted to kill him or if I just felt sorry for him. “She wants to see you. Tell her you’re going to rehab after you have surgery to fix your face. Tell her you’re happy for her. Be fucking civil. Got it?”

  “The bullied becomes the bully.”

  I eyed him. “I learned from the best.” I turned and opened the door. “Elyssia.”

  She looked up from where she was pacing the hall with worry all over her face.

  I smiled. “Come see your brother.” I held the door open.

  She rushed in, tears in her eyes. “Marcus.” She wrapped her arms around her brother, and with love and forgiveness, she kissed his cheek.

  IN NOTHING BUT MY shirt and the smile I loved on her face, she strode into my practice room with her hands behind her back.

  I didn’t break rhythm. “You’re fucking sexy, you know that?”

  She giggled. “You just swore.”

  I was losing my fucking mind around her. “Get over here.” I kept the beat.

  She moved behind me.

  Her scent filled my head, and I looked up. “Kiss me, beautiful.”

  Her lips landed on mine, and I kicked up the beat, shoving my tongue into her sweet mouth as my hands flew across my kit blind.

  Groaning, she kissed me back the way she’d started kissing our third time. With need, with desire, without holding back. Fuck, I loved it.

  I nipped her bottom lip, never once breaking rhythm. “Straddle me,” I demanded.

  Heat spread across her cheeks, but pure sexual woman hooded her eyes. She gracefully slid around me, ducking under one of my arms to straddle me.

  “That’s it, gorgeous.” Fuck she was hot. “Unbutton my jeans,” I ordered.

  She did exactly what I told her.

  Still drumming, I watched her free my hard cock and stroke me.

  Jesus. “Keep going.”

  She gripped me harder and rubbed her thumb across the head like I’d shown her.

  I fucking missed a beat. “Harder.”

  Her mouth landed on mine, and she stroked me like she wanted every damn thing I could give her. Adrenaline pumping, I picked up the beat. My sticks flying, pounding the foot pedal, my dick rock-hard, I kissed the fuck out of her.

  Her hand slid down my length, and she raised her hips, impaling herself in one thrust.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Bottoming out in her, growling, I dropped my sticks and grabbed her hips. “Fuck, beautiful.”

  “Talk dirty to me,” she whispered, rocking against me.

  “Take that fucking shirt off and I will.”

  She grinned and slipped my shirt over her head.

  “That’s right, sexy. Naked as fuck for me.” I thrust up hard. “I love that tight little pussy gripping me.” I sucked her nipple. “You taste like mine.”

  “I am yours.” She fingered the ring on my hand. “And you’re mine.”

  “So fucking yours.” I held her hips and drove into her. Fuck, she was tight. “What’d you come in here for, huh?” I bit her neck and sucked her sweet-smelling flesh.

  Riding me thrust for thrust, she panted, “To show you… something.”

  “Yeah? What was that? Your wet cunt or your luscious tits?” Jesus, I already wanted to come. “Or did you just want my hard cock to make you come?” I circled her clit with my thumb.

  “The….” She moaned. “Oh my God, the paper.”

  I pressed harder with my thumb as I hit her cervix. “I’m buried balls deep in you, baby. You think I care about the paper?” I sucked the other nipple into my mouth.

  Her body jerked in my arms, and she exploded around me. “Ben.”

  “Fuck, I’m coming so hard in you.” I drove into her three more times, then I let go and fucking pumped my release into her. “Jesus, baby.” Fuck. “You feel that?”

  “Oh my God, yes. Oh my God.” She rocked on my cock hard.

  “That’s it.” I kissed her. “Ride that out. Feel me in you.”

  Her eyes closed, her head back, she sucked in a sharp breath. “I feel it.”

  “Good.” I sucked on her neck, leaving another mark.

  Her hand half-heartedly swiped at me. “Are you giving me another hickey?”

  Fuck yes. “No.”

  She picked her head up, and a knowing smile touched her lips. “Bennett Stark, you liar. Yes, you are.”

  I smiled. “I’m too fucking old to leave hickeys.”

  She looked down at her chest and pointed to the side of her breast. “Then what do you call this?”

  She had to ask? “Mine,” I answered, dead serious.

  She shook her head, but she was holding back a grin. “Do you want to know why I came in here?”

  “To get fucked?” Three weeks and I’d lost all sense of chivalry in the bedroom with her.

  She blushed. “That too.” She toed some paper at her feet. “I can’t reach with you….” She looked down to where my cock was still buried deep.

  I pulsed inside her. “You have all you need right here.” I kissed her, already wanting to fuck her again.

  She cupped my face, but pulled away from my mouth. “Stop distracting me. I want you to see something.” She nodded toward the floor.

  I picked the paper up and handed it to her. “Unless it’s a picture of you, I don’t care what it is.” I’d never be able to practice here again without thinking of fucking her.

  “Well….” She trailed off and turned the paper around.

  Shit. Shit.

  Our picture took up half the fucking page. The headline read: The rock industry’s hottest drummer is off the market!

  “Elyssia.” I breathed out. “I’m fucking sorry.” Goddamn it. Luna had sworn he’d cleared the area in front of the courthouse for us yesterday. Marcus was going to fucking pound me next time he saw me.

  She turned the paper around and stared at it a moment.

  My chest fucking constricted. “I’ll do what I can to temper this.”

  She ran her finger over the picture. “We look happy.”

  Happy didn’t begin to cover it. I was fucking ecstatic. I’d just married the girl of my dreams. I took the paper from her hands and held her face. “I’ve never been happier.”

  “I’m okay with it. It was going to get out eventually.”

  “You’re going to be followed, photographed,” I warned, but hounded, shouted at, slammed by petty assholes on social media, and scrutinized for everything was cl
oser to the truth.

  “I know,” she said quietly.

  “It will die down, but at first?” I shook my head once. “I’m going to have one of André’s men with you while I’m gone.” She’d need protection from the paparazzi for a little while. I was the first in the band to get married.

  “About that.” She dipped her head.

  Jesus. “Baby, we talked about this.” I’d given her a hundred reasons why I didn’t need to finish out the tour. She’d countered every one and insisted I go back. Neither of us wanted to be apart, but Marcus was getting the help he needed, and she’d said she was getting antsy in the Miami penthouse. Turned out she loved Ocala. I was having Neil build a house there, but I was saving the surprise for her until it was finished.

  She ran her hand down my chest. “Could we really have our own hotel room every night?”

  I stared at her, half in shock. “You want to come with me?” She been adamant that she would get in the way, and I hadn’t pushed it. I knew how she felt about crowds and the attention. She didn’t need to be a part of that, and I’d never put her through it.

  Her finger drew a circle over my nipple. “Kinda.”

  I tipped her chin. “Tell me right now,” I demanded more harshly than I’d intended. I told myself it was because I needed to make arrangements if she was going to join me tomorrow, but in truth, I was losing my shit over the possibility of her coming.

  She hesitated. “It’s five weeks.”

  I knew exactly how fucking long it was going to be. “Five weeks, four days.” Twenty-three shows.

  “You’re probably really tired each night after you perform.”

  I’d be exhausted the whole fucking time. We drove, we practiced, we played. Rinse and repeat. “Not too tired to hold you.” And fuck her senseless.

  She exhaled. “I don’t want to be apart for five weeks.”

  I wrapped my arms around her and growled into her hair as a giant fucking weight lifted. “You’re coming.” Fuck, she was coming. Kissing her, my dick still buried deep inside her, I pulled out my phone.

  She giggled. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you don’t change your mind.” I shot off a text to Myles to warn him, and then I pulled up the number for the airline.

  “Oh my God, you’re on your phone while I’m… I’m….” She looked down, and my dick pulsed in anticipation of more.

  “I’m multitasking.” I grinned, kissing her once. Then I flattened my hand against her stomach. “You’re both coming with me.”

  She blushed, hard. “I’m not pregnant yet.”

  “You could be.” She should be. We’d fucked every second she’d let me touch her, and I’d come inside her so many times, I’d lost count. I worked my way through a phone tree to get a real fucking person.

  “Bennett Stark,” she chided.

  Someone answered at the airline.

  I held up a finger to her. “I need to book a second ticket for an existing reservation.”

  My wife’s face melted into a sweet smile.

  THANK YOU!

  Thank you so much for reading BENNETT! If you were interested in leaving a review on any retail site, I would be so appreciative. Reviews mean the world to authors, and they are helpful beyond compare!

  Have you read all the books in the Uncompromising Series?

  TALON

  NEIL

  ANDRÉ

  CALLAN

  Have you read Graham’s story?

  NO APOLOGIES

  Have you met André’s ex-Marine friends, Alex, Jared and Dane? Three male escorts, three women who bring them to their knees.

  The Thrust Series

  THRUST—Alex’s story

  ROUGH—Jared’s story

  GRIND—Dane’s story

  Have you read Blaze and Layna’s story?

  The Unchecked Series

  IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE

  IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE

  IMPOSSIBLE END

  Turn the page for a preview of CALLAN,

  the next exciting book in the Uncompromising Series!

  CALLAN (The Uncompromising Series Book Five)

  Callan

  I was trained to be a hunter. Growing up in the nation’s most infamous, violent cult, my job was simple. Track. Kill. Survive.

  And that’s what I did… until our leader threatened to kill his own daughter.

  Refusing to watch another senseless murder, I did what I was trained to do. I took his life. Then I claimed his land and set every member free, including her. I only had one goal left. Find the sister I was told was dead.

  But being a hunter in the woods is a far cry from tracking a woman in Miami Beach.

  I didn’t find my sister.

  I found someone else.

  I can write a hundred thousand words, weaving a story of an alpha hero and his heroine. I have ideas for the next dozen books in my head, and I’m not afraid of hard work. But this little section of every book? This page? It terrifies me.

  Acknowledgments.

  How do you acknowledge everyone who has helped, guided, listened, given advice, been there, encouraged and just cheered you on, in a single page? I’m not sure. How do I adequately thank all of my readers who make it possible for me to do what I do? I’m not sure, but I want to hug you all. How do I express my gratitude for my beta reader, editors, cover artist, bloggers, and formatter? How do I tell my family that I love them more than words? A few sentences to express all of this is never enough. But I am grateful, so damn grateful, because I know I could not do what I do alone.

  So to my family, and to my tribe—thank you. XOXO -Sybil

  Sybil grew up in northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She used to dream of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling.

  Sybil now resides in southern Florida, and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she’s not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her family, and a mischievous miniature boxer.

  But seriously?

  Here are ten things you really want to know about Sybil.

  She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaked her out. Her favorite word is desperate, or dirty, or both, she can’t choose. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never rely on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week.

  To find out more about Sybil Bartel or her books, please visit her at:

  Website: sybilbartel.com

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