by Jc Emery
“I’ll stay with Nic,” Mindy says. Her voice is quiet, and she sounds so defeated. I’m about to tell her that she’ll get used to Grady’s bossiness when I realize that, despite these scary and uncomfortable situations, Grady isn’t a part of my life. In fact, the only time we’ve actually spent any time together is after something awful happens, and then I go back to my boring life and he goes back to whatever he does. I’m always left with the same dull disappointment that I didn’t have or take a chance to get to know him better. He’s saved me more times than I’d like to admit I’ve needed saving, and yet these rescue missions are really all we have. That and that one kiss. That explosive kiss that I almost took too far. A small, stupid part of my brain wants more.
“Go pack.” Grady leans in and presses his hand to my lower back, guiding me down the hallway. I’m not paying attention and thus not very compliant, but that doesn’t seem to matter. He pushes me forward gently. When I start to walk on my own, he follows behind and leans himself in the doorway of my room. The small room is pretty messy. Swiftly as I can, I kick stray bras under my bed and cover my dirty panties with other pieces of dirty laundry.
“You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen,” he says, eyeing under my bed, where I’ve kicked two bright red bras.
“That doesn’t mean I want my personal items out in the open for you to see,” I respond as I shove a mix of casual and work clothes into a duffel bag.
“We can come by in a few days to get more stuff if you need it,” he says, eyeing the duffel bag. Like an idiot, my cheeks heat. The idea of spending days in his home, surrounded by his scent and his deliciously overbearing masculinity makes me nervous. If I were smart, I’d be afraid for my life right now and formulating a plan of action to get myself out of this mess and as far away from him as possible, especially considering it’s his fault that I’m in this mess to begin with. But realistically, I know that’s not going to happen, so I just shut up and go with it.
“How long will I be staying with you for?” I ask. His eyes stop wandering around my barren, messy room and land on me.
Without an ounce of humor he says, “Until you’re safe. However long that is.”
“That’s really vague.”
“I let you leave my house twice, and each time you were targeted. You don’t have to like my answer, but you do have to deal with it. I will not let anything hurt you again. You got that?”
That nagging hope that maybe he likes me for more than a quick hump on a garage floor resurfaces and blooms in the pit of my belly. His words come out so clear and decided. He’s not some young guy who doesn’t know what he wants or has a tough time communicating it. This is a man who does as he pleases, takes what he likes, and doesn’t apologize for it or ask permission.
And if I’m not careful, I might fall for him hard enough to not recover.
Chapter 19
I TENSE UP and claw at the sheet beneath me. My throat aches from the exertion of screaming so much in such a short period of time. Once I’m coherent, I close my mouth and the room falls silent. This is the third time tonight I’ve awoken myself in a panic. The first time I woke up screaming, Grady ran into the room with his gun drawn. Cheyenne and Lisa followed right behind him. Lisa had a flashlight and Cheyenne had a straightening iron in hand as if they were prepared for battle. They were also wearing shirts, which was a good thing, but Grady wasn’t; which was an even better thing.
The bedroom door opens and Grady walks in. He reaches out and flips the light on. Still in just gray sweats with no shirt on. This time he strides in slowly and his gun hangs loosely in his hand. His free hands scrubs at his face, and he says, “Somebody better be in here trying to kill you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, blinking spastically from the sudden brightness of the room.
“That’s a first,” he says, “you being sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, and his muscles flex. I noticed a tattoo on his ribcage. In a beautiful script, he has CHEYENNE tattooed on his left ribs. A lot of people get tattoos of their children's names, so it's not like the tattoo in itself is unique. It's just one more little thing that shows how much his daughter means to him.
I've never been involved with a guy who has kids before, and actually, until now the very idea gave me an uneasy feeling. I didn't want the complication or frustration of dealing with an ex and a kid and all, but it's different with Grady. He's all muscles and gorgeous dark hair and brilliant green eyes. And when I see his tattoo, lovingly placed on his ribs, with the name of his daughter, I don't want him to leave. It’s not so much a fear of being alone as it was the fear of not getting to know him.
“Are you ever sorry?” I snark.
He walks to my side of the bed and looks down at me with puffy eyes that make his exhaustion obvious. “My regrets would haunt even your waking hours.”
The seriousness of his response takes me aback. I find myself speechless for the first time in a while.
“Since you woke me up again, let’s get this shit over with, yeah?” he says. He sets the gun down on the side table and sits himself at the foot of the bed. His tattoos are gorgeous. His left bicep is covered in a warrior tattoo that is adorned with skulls. On his left forearm is a woman with wings and her legs spread. I try to pretend that one’s not there. His chest, right above his heart, has some kind of double-sided tree trunk with a Celtic-style branch banding around it that forms a circle.
“What’s with the tree?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He looks down at his tattoo for a moment before raising his eyes and saying, “Circle of life. What ends begins again—shit like that.”
“Wow, you’re deep,” I say with an impressed nod.
“Too easy,” he says with a smile and a shake of his head. His eyes travel down to my breasts that strain beneath my tank top. “Back to business—I need to know what Mancuso’s guy said and did.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say in a plea.
“I don’t care,” he says flatly. “I need to know.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “He showed up at our apartment. He said he was sorry for intruding, but that he needed us to hand over our car keys and to go with him. I tried to run down the hall, but he grabbed me and said that he didn’t want to hurt either of us, he just needed to borrow us for a little while. He had two guys with him. They took our car keys, but not our house keys. He said they were moving our cars to a nearby parking lot. When his guys returned, they put our car keys in the kitchen, made us take our house keys, and then very politely ordered that we go with them.”
“He didn’t have a gun on you? He didn’t hurt you? Touch you in anyway?”
“No. He did warn me not to yell at him, but that was it. He said he just needed to send a message to Forsaken, but that he didn’t want to hurt us.”
“That it?” he asks.
“He said for me to tell you that nobody is safe,” I say. His expression darkens and he narrows his eyes. It only lasts a moment before he shakes it off and stands.
“You think you can let me get some sleep now?” he asks with a yawn.
“I just…” I say and then think better of it. He wants to leave and go back to bed, but I don’t want him to go. Squirming uncomfortably in my spot, I reach out, but then pull away. I can’t bring myself to tell him what I need. But I don’t have to, it seems. He looks down at me thoughtfully.
“Don’t want to be alone, I get it.” He walks across the room. My heart falls a little as he nears the door. He stops a foot away, reaches out and shuts the door, then turns the lock. I watch in breathless anticipation as he cuts off the light, then rounds the bed and climbs in the other side. Slipping beneath the covers, he lies on his back and pounds his pillow into submission. Yawning, he wiggles in his spot. I turn toward him, full of nervous excitement and wonder. He’s so close—close enough to touch—but I’m not certain this is something I should be pursuing. I know I want to pursue it, I just don’t know if it’s smart to.
�
�Yeah,” I whisper. His eyes flutter closed. “Thank you for not being a dick.”
He opens one eyeball and narrows it. “After weeks of avoiding me, now you want to talk?”
“We don’t have to talk, I’m just too tense to fall asleep right now,” I mutter.
“Okay, fine,” he says in a gravelly voice. He reaches out and pulls me to him. Our bodies are flush against one another and as I tilt my chin up, I find that we’re practically nose to nose. I’m stunned by his action, but beyond that, excited to be so close to him. After this dance we’ve been doing for weeks now, I’m about to explode just by the anticipation of it all.
His arm around my waist slides down to my hip and his hand snakes around to my ass. His commanding touch kneads my supple flesh. He bucks his hips into mine. He’s already half hard. A needy whimper falls from my lips as he continues his movements. Knead. Buck. Knead. Buck. He doesn’t look so tired anymore, but rather, a man driven. The last time we were here, I pulled away. I won’t be making the same mistake twice.
Awake and determined, he hooks his thumbs around the waist of my pajama pants and panties and yanks them down. His movements are so quick that I barely have time to react, but he doesn’t care. He slips a hand between my thighs causing me to tense up. Using brute force, he lifts my leg into a bent position where I’m left exposed at my center. Being bare before him is nerve-wracking. I look down at my thighs, which are much too thick and my belly which is slightly rounded for no reason other than my love of milkshakes and my hips, which are wider than I’d like. I wonder if I measure up to the women he’s used to having sex with. This thought sends me down the path of wondering how many women he’s had sex with, how many names he never got or forgot entirely, and if he’d recognize every woman he’s been with or if some are just a blur.
“Don’t go there,” he says. His eyes drift from mine down to my exposed pussy. He drags a single finger lightly up my center. Shivers rack my entire body. My eyes flutter involuntarily and I have to actively fight to keep my legs where they are. His finger drags back down, parting my moistening flesh, and dipping inside. He finds my nub without issue and draws smooth circles in a slow and deliberate fashion. “Whatever you’re thinking about—don’t. Just relax, Sweets.”
His finger works faster in frantic circles. My head falls back into the pillow and I tilt from my side to my spine. Incredible waves of ecstasy take over my muscles as I slide into a puddle of blissful immobility. He leans over me, and his finger leaves my wet core for a split second before returning. One jerky circle and two fingers part me as they slowly slip into my depths. A minute passes before he pulls them out and then back in. He creates a torturous rhythm. I’ve broken out into shivers and a thin sheen of sweat coats my entire body. I’m spiraling into oblivion as he pulls out and pushes his fingers back inside. He hooks his fingers inside of me. My body shakes and I gasp for air.
Leaning down, he nips at my neck and whispers, “I’m too tired to get into it tonight, but tomorrow, I’m gonna let you wrap that smart mouth around my dick and swallow everything I give you.”
Coming down from that amazing high, I pant wildly. I don’t even have the energy to argue or shake my head. Incredible orgasm or not, I want to bring him back down to reality and remind him that I never asked to suck his dick. But I don’t because now that he’s mentioned it, I really do want to taste him.
He slides his fingers out of my wet pussy and draws his sweats down just far enough to free himself. He uses the wetness of his hand to aide in his efforts as he slides down his thick shaft and then back up again. He moves faster and faster in a combination of smooth and jerky movements. My lips are suddenly dry and no matter how many times I lick them, it’s not enough.
“If I touch you anymore tonight, we’re not going to get any sleep and I have to be right when I take care of that fucking Italian,” he grits out.
“What are you going to do to him?” I ask quietly, turning onto my side. My eyes are transfixed on his straining dick as he works himself toward the edge.
“He scare you?” he asks. His movements slow just slightly as his hand is drying. Feeling brave, I reach down between my legs and use my index finger to rub my swollen and sensitive nub in fast, violent circles. My muscles lock up and all it takes is seeing Grady’s eyes glaze over for me to come again. I don’t give myself any time to recover. Instead, I coat my hand in my own juices and reach for him.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He moves his hand away and watches as I wrap my hand around his rock hard cock and pump him slowly. His words dissolve into a moan as he says, “Then he’s going to suffer when he dies.”
There’s something disturbingly erotic about his comment. It feels more like a declaration or a promise. It spurs me on to pump him faster with a lighter touch and then slower with a firmer touch. A few cycles and he’s shoving my shirt up off my belly. In a shaky motion, he moves my hand away and positions himself over my bare stomach. He works quickly, his breath is ragged, and his eyes snap closed as he comes on my bare skin. It’s a beautiful thing to witness—him losing control like that. For a man like him, who values being in charge, it’s a gift to see him vulnerable.
Chapter 20
LAST NIGHT WAS incredible. I'm on my fourth cup of coffee and it's not doing anything to wake me up, but I don’t care. I called in sick—I could have gone in to work, but I couldn’t imagine having to be there after yesterday. Grady's guest room is comfortable, more so when he’s in it with me, and he assured me that I'm safe in this house, even going so far as pointing out every safety feature he's installed. Still, once he left to “take care of shit” this morning, the panic came back.
I take a drink of my coffee and let my mind slip back to that cozy place where I’m falling asleep in Grady’s arms. He’s just cleaned us up and I’m curled into him. The memory is short though. This morning he told me I fell asleep instantly. Suddenly my exhaustion doesn't seem so bad. Sleep is overrated with a memory like that, but I don't think I should keep going down this road while I'm at his dining room table with his daughter and mother preparing to play a board game.
To my left, Cheyenne sorts through the Monopoly pieces, and across from me, Lisa organizes the play money by denomination. One moment, I was sitting here poking through Teen Love magazine and realizing how old I've gotten in the last decade, and the next thing I know, Cheyenne and Lisa are coming through the front door with the guy Grady used to have following me. I've since learned that the club calls him Squat, which seems appropriate enough, and that as a prospect, he's not allowed to tell me his real name.
I find out how dedicated he is to becoming a member of the club—what Cheyenne informs me they call “patching in”. Cheyenne gives the poor guy a bunch of stupid orders. He blows her off at first, but all it takes is her saying, “Don’t make me tell my daddy that you disobeyed a direct order.” The poor man does seven jumping jacks and quacks like a duck twice before she gives him a break and they high-five and laugh about it. Now, Squat walks the perimeter of the house, checking and double-checking the locks. Every time he finishes a round, he calls Grady and checks in.
“I want the shoe,” Cheyenne says as she grabs the shoe from the pile of game pieces.
“Well, that’s surprising,” Lisa says. She playfully bumps Cheyenne in the upper arm and throws her a mischievous smile. Cheyenne mimics her grandmother and rolls her eyes.
“She thinks I have a lot of shoes,” Cheyenne informs me. Lisa nods furiously and mutters something I can’t hear. Cheyenne holds up the dog and the race car to Lisa. “Which one do you want, Grams?”
“Let Holly pick first,” Lisa says as she doles starter money out to each of us.
“Oh, right,” Cheyenne says. She picks up all of the pieces, with the exception of her precious shoe, and holds them out to me. Without even thinking about it, I choose my old standby, the ship. I’ve never chosen anything but the ship since I was a kid. She raises an eyebrow and says, “That’s my Dad’s favorite
.”
“Your dad has good taste,” I say and give her a slight smile.
“Not always,” she mutters and shows the remaining pieces to Lisa, who picks out the dog. Lisa gives her a sideways glance and shakes her head.
“What, I’m just saying,” Cheyenne defends herself. “Holly knows I like her.”
“I’m going to pretend like there’s not some kind of subtext going on here,” I say and take a drink of my coffee.
Just as I set my mug down on the table, the front door opens and the alarm squeals loudly. I can’t see him, but I can hear Grady cursing at the alarm. The noise stops a moment later, and his heavy footfalls sound on the hardwood as he draws near. He rounds the corner into the kitchen. His arms are full with two plastic store bags that he sets down on the counter while he surveys what we’re doing. Like a pathetic puppy, I perk up the moment I lay eyes on him.
“Monopoly?” he asks with raised eyebrows. Lisa stands from her place at the table and beelines for the bags on the counter. He abandons the bags and heads for the fridge, where he grabs two beers. On his way through the kitchen, he says something to his mom that makes her laugh and then comes to the table and sits down in the empty seat beside me. “Dibs on the ship!”
Cheyenne shakes her head and points her finger at him, “You’re not playing!”
