Her climax hit as he pulled the fireworks from deep inside her, lighting every nerve ending until they exploded. But it wasn’t enough. Clinging to him, Ella begged, “I need you inside me. Need to feel you. Now.”
Carefully, he withdrew his fingers, and she winced, sitting up, almost reaching for him. Maybe she should have rolled with the climactic wave and not been greedy, but as Bishop shucked his boxer briefs, and his beautiful length came into view, the millisecond of regrets vanished.
He opened the drawer of his nightstand and grabbed a condom. Lightning fast, he came back to her. “Lie on your back.”
She complied, and the massive hulk of a man loomed. Calculating, he began his descent. His palms ran over her breasts, down her hips to her thighs, where he spread her legs farther apart. Open to his stare, she could’ve felt vulnerable, but instead, she felt safe, secure, … desired.
Hands resting on top of her thighs, Bishop squeezed her then leaned in for a kiss between her legs.
“Oh,” she moaned as his tongue ran along her seam and his lips suctioned her clit.
Her butt lifted off the bed as his hands clamped her in place. “Fuck, you taste good.”
Too much to think about, she couldn’t handle his tongue, the words, but he slowed his kiss and eased up, tearing open the condom. “And if I didn’t need to come so bad I was going to die?”
She shuddered.
He sheathed himself and crawled up her body, nudging the head of his cock against her entrance as he sucked on her bottom lip. “I’d lick you.”
She breathed through the first thrust of his intrusion. Foreplay did wonders, but size was size, and Bishop’s cock was thick and long. The heavenly sensation of him entering her was real. Ella flexed her hips, trying to accommodate him.
“Kiss you,” Bishop continued, inching in, tangling his tongue with hers. “Suck that perfect, fucking little clit.”
God. She tossed her head to the side. “Please.”
“Damn, I feel that.” His low voice shook, growling into her mouth.
“Me too,” Ella gasped, needing more and pulling away. “More.”
He didn’t stop rocking until he was balls deep. Ella dug her nails into his back, crying that she loved him.
Bishop froze, his chest heaving. “Love you too, babe.”
Then he went hard and fast, not stopping. With each collision, she came closer and closer to reaching the stars again.
Her pussy clenched, and she held onto him as he pushed her to fly. “Bishop!”
A relay of excitement, one nerve ending to the next, shot up her arms and down her spine. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t think. He held her, and that was all that mattered as her climax erased the worst parts of the day, shattering every memory except for I love you. All she could do was exist. The only person in her world was Bishop. Him in her. On her. Making her feel as though together, they were invincible.
Emotion caught in her throat. Something from history and something from today. Words bubbled but wouldn’t come out. Whatever it was, it weighed heavy. She wanted to say something, needed to explain that she was grateful, explain that there was a thank you to be shared.
“Are you okay, El?”
She simply nodded against his cheek.
“Good.” He had slowed through her orgasm to a gentle roll. Slow and steady. A beacon of strength in the wild—so very Bishop. “Give me your leg, Ella.”
Numb legs like jelly didn’t matter. He would get anything he asked for. She shifted, and he grasped behind her kneecap. With their new angle, all thoughts left her head as he stroked, unhurried.
“This is…” Paradise.
He captured her in a kiss, his tongue slow, dancing as fast as he made love. Lazy and languid, but still deep and dangerous, building her to the edge in the most undercover of ways.
Again, the wave of orgasm teased, toeing her to an insatiable end. “I am…”
“Yeah?” His hot breaths gasped as he amped up the piston of his hips. Every second passed with a more powerful pace. Even as he spun them to dizzying heights, Bishop controlled the maddening chaos until she could’ve sworn she was the center of his world, and he lived to bring her to that point.
His thrusts hit deep. Her pussy spasmed, rippling on his cock as she came. He groaned, his body quaking and possessing her in a way unlike she had ever experienced. Their orgasms slammed together. Their gulps for air mixed with exhausted, sated lip-locks until they were slumped into two heaving bodies, coming down from a high as one.
“Thank you.” The words had finally come.
His green eyes opened, and he gave her a chin lift. With a light kiss, he released her leg, pulling away. Separate but still touching, they continued to catch their breath. Bishop let his fingers wind with hers.
“This was a good way to end a shitty day.” He squeezed her hand before rolling away and walking toward his bathroom.
She tossed her arm over her face. A million reactions ran through her head. But most notably, today had the worst, but now also the best, memories.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The farmers’ market was packed. Row after row of vendors hawked their fresh fruits and vegetables, sold their lemonade and baklava, and displayed their farm fresh eggs and homemade items.
“Are you ready for tomorrow night?” Locke asked, tossing an apple back and forth.
Two days spent with Bishop, then she’d surfaced for air when Manny called to say he had been discharged and was at home. She wanted to pick up some items to stock his kitchen, and Bishop needed to report in to his boss, so Locke was back on bodyguard duty. Truth was, she’d missed his no-nonsense way of telling her how it was—and how he could sometimes do it without saying a word.
“Sure.” The three of them—well four, if she counted Tara—were headed to New York City. Road trip. It should be fun. But the last red-carpet event had had its own set of hiccups, and whenever cameras were involved, Tara’s stress level made the New York City skyscrapers look teeny-tiny. Plus, she would have to abandon comfy clothes and be Spanxed into something lean and mean. “It’ll be fun.”
Locke grunted a disbelieving laugh. “What about now? You good?”
Ella waved to a woman she knew at a booth and stopped to buy a loaf of cheese bread for Manny. She snapped a quick picture, scheduling it to post later, when Locke repeated the question.
“I’m fine.” But definitely jittery. She glanced around, itching under the scrutiny she couldn’t place.
“You bought that for Manny, but you won’t eat it?” he asked.
“Why do you guys think just because I won’t touch certain things, that I won’t let others eat them?”
“Well…” Locke shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Manny’s home and recovering. He needs food. I might not be the one who buys him ground beef—”
“Because that’s different than buying him something with cheese in it?”
“Animals used for meat and their byproduct is an industry that has undergone changes over the years, from inhumane practices to more compassionate ones. There are many reasons I don’t eat meat, and many more why I’m a vegan. But mostly, I’m disturbed that there was and in some cases, still is, an industry that is indifferent to the pain and well-being of animals, seeing them as nothing more than dollars on a spreadsheet, when they are livestock with beating hearts. It literally makes me sick.” She smiled at a familiar face and glanced over her shoulder to see if there was someone else she knew. No one caught her eye. “I’m not here to regulate what Manny eats, but I am happy to help him get better. Free-range chickens didn’t exist that long ago. Now it’s a term people are willing to pay for. That helps the chickens and the famers by trickling more money back into an industry that has seen new growth.”
Locke nodded. “I like that about you.”
“What?”
“Everything’s a lesson.”
She blushed. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“My turn.”
“Hmm?”
“Fifth time.”
“For what?” she asked.
“I think you already know.”
She bit her lip. “I’m looking around?”
Locke nodded.
“Do you feel anything… weird?” she asked.
Locke cast a lazy glance over the crowd and shook his head. “If I did, we wouldn’t be here.” His eyes continued to scan the crowd. They never stopped moving, like Bishop’s, when they were in public. “But”—he rubbed a hand over his jaw—“there’s something to be said for intuition. You’ve been in the crosshairs. Anyone who’s been there before, especially more than once? They know the feeling.”
“I know that feeling,” Ella whispered.
“It’s not a club that I welcome you into. But you’re a card-carrying member.”
“I—”
Anger tightened Locke’s face in a way that she never could’ve expected. His eyes beaded as his nostrils flared, and a low growl emanated from his chest. “Son of a bitch.”
Stepping quickly, he tucked her behind him, and she followed the direction of his ire. There was Jay. Her stomach turned. Angie had told her that she would consider him a person of interest, that Ella should consider him dangerous.
“Ella,” Jay said loudly, closing the distance as though he couldn’t see Locke in front of her. “We need to talk.”
She took a step back as Locke intercepted. “Ella’s good, man. She doesn’t want to talk right now.” Locke became a wall.
“What the—Ella. We need to clear some things up.” Jay tried sidestepping Locke and failed. When he moved the opposite way, Locke blocked him again. “The hell? Ella.”
“We were just leaving.” She turned toward the baker’s booth. If anything, she could stand with a familiar face until Locke took care of this. What was Jay doing there? And how long had he been at the farmers’ market? What did he want to clear up? Her mind spun too fast, with too many puzzle pieces desperately trying to slam together.
At the baker’s booth, she clung to the table.
“Ella, are you okay?” the woman who had sold her the cheesy bread asked.
“I just need to—” She refused to sound weak. “I told a friend I’d meet him here.”
“Here I am,” Locke’s deep voice said. “Ready?”
She nodded and grabbed onto his arm, needing to stabilize herself. “I know it was him. I know it now. How are they ever going to prove it?”
Locke’s tight jaw confirmed her biggest fear. They weren’t. Her best option would be something like a restraining order.
“Let’s go.” He hustled her toward the parking lot, weaving them through the rows of booths.
A cold chill ran over Ella, and she glanced over her shoulder. There Jay was, glaring. This was that same feeling she’d had for months, when she had no idea who her stalker was.
***
Bishop paced Ella’s hallway, listening to Locke as he summarized the final few moments of the interaction with Jay at the farmers’ market. This was why he wasn’t in law enforcement. Bishop didn’t have the patience for this cat-and-mouse bullshit. He wanted back in the mountains, back in the military, back to what Titan was supposed to offer. Orders. An enemy he could destroy. Not some jackass they had to pussyfoot around and play wait-and-see with.
“Man, you need to take a breath.” Locke put his arm out. “You walk in there like that, you’re going to scare the crap out of a girl who’s already trying to keep it all inside.”
Right. Ella didn’t keep much inside. She talked. She posted. She vlogged—if that was actually even a goddamn word. “I’m fine.”
“You’re anything but.”
“I’m—” His phone buzzed, and Bishop wanted to throw the damn thing against the wall for the headaches technology brought on. How else would Jay have even known where Ella was going to be? Locke surely hadn’t left a breadcrumb trail. TITAN HQ appeared on his screen. Bishop rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Hello?”
“Yeah, hello to you too, peaches.”
He sealed his teeth and squeezed his eyes. “Sugar. What’s up?”
“Not a good time?”
“No. It’s fine.” The last thing he needed to do was piss off Boss Man’s wife. “Need something?”
“We think you do.”
“We?”
“Lex and Cat are with me on speakerphone.”
“Spectacular,” he said, barely opening his teeth. “What do you need?”
He hadn’t put in a GUNS order, but with the three of them on the phone, Sugar didn’t sound as though she was calling about an order or a job.
“We want to meet your girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” At least not one that he was going to admit to on the phone with the boss’s wife.
“Oh, for God’s sake. She’s cute as a fuckin’ button.”
“Seems smart—”
“That was Lexi,” Sugar said. “No one on this phone cares if you’re nailing your detailee.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this really why you’re calling me?”
“Get used to it,” Caterina said—Bishop knew her accent. “Sugar is in everyone’s business, and the second she smells sex, she’s making calls, playing matchmaker, and butting in like you would not believe.”
“That’s terrific. Really.” He kneaded the hollows by his eyes then rubbed a hand over his face. “But I need to get back to work.”
“Exactly. That’s why I was calling. Jeez. You’d think I didn’t have a point.”
“And that is…”
“We were watching her just now—”
“Just now?” Bishop turned toward Ella’s condo door.
“And you need to remind that woman, do no harm but take no shit.”
“Loud and clear.” He saw red. “I gotta go.” Then he turned to Locke, nodded good-bye, and let himself into Ella’s unit with Locke’s warning to chill out burning in his ears.
“El?” Where was she making a video in real time? When Jay was out there, stalking her in real time. What was she thinking? She wasn’t. Simple. Jay was thorough. Shit, that man was a predator, and Ella was making it easy for him, even if he already knew where she lived. It wasn’t the point.
Bishop scanned the living room and kitchen. No Ella. “Ella?”
Not in the laundry.
He tapped the ajar bathroom door. Not in there.
Stomach churning, he headed to her “fake” bedroom. Empty. Flawless. The covers were smooth, not even recently sat on. There was only one other place in this condo. But she wouldn’t. No. Right? No way would Ella make a video from the only slice of privacy she had.
His molars smashed together as he approached the door. Light escaped from underneath it. Stupid move. Really? No. First, she went live, and second, from in there? Anger pounded in his chest that her recklessness was endangering the one thing he cared too much about: her.
Bishop crashed into the room, letting Ella’s bedroom door slam against her wall. It hit so hard, the door bounced back, and he knocked it again with his elbow.
There she was, in the center of her bed, phone still in hand and tablet by her knee. “You can’t even put the damn thing down.”
Her wild expression tracked to the door and back to him. “What?”
“What were you doing?”
“Oh.” Ella pulled her knees under her and dropped the phone, avoiding his glare. “My job. Like always.”
“Wrong. Not like always. Look around you, babe. What’s different? When is it different? Things are different.”
She shrunk back into the row of pillows. “I know.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I just felt so lost. And alone.”
“So you turned to a million strangers? Pick up the phone, Ella. Talk to a real person.”
“I did, and Tara said—”
“Tara? Tara? You could’ve called me. You could’ve talked to Locke.” He stormed forward. �
��But no. Tara. And Tara said what? Tell people about your pain? And you thought, ‘okay, that’s so stupid, but why not?’ Tara said, ‘sure, your life’s in danger, but let’s give it a whirl.’ Yeah, why don’t you call and do whatever that loony-tunes woman with ratings-for-brains thinks.”
“Stop with the name-calling.” Ella buried her head in her hands. “I know you’re upset. It made me feel better.”
“Really? You know it now, or maybe you thought I’d lose my shit like I’m doing and did it anyway?”
She sniffled into her hands.
“Yeah, you knew it and still did it anyway. Awesome, El. Because I was hoping that maybe you were just being irresponsible and forgetful.”
“Really, Bishop.” She lifted her tear-streaked face. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time. It was a live stream. Simple.”
“For the purposes of ratings and likes and drama and whatever else that you and Tara can orchestrate.”
“Seriously, it’s one video. One time. That’s all it was.”
“In here! In your sanctuary. In this safe zone. The DMZ. Your green zone. The place where I shouldn’t have to worry about you, and you do something as stupid as my sister did.”
Ella’s head snapped back, and her eyes went as wide as her mouth. “Screw you.”
He hadn’t even expected to say those words, but it was the God’s honest truth. “She didn’t have to pick up the phone, and neither did you.”
“Everything is one impending disaster after another. And this room can’t save me from lunatics—”
“Impending disaster?” he snarled, hurling her words back at her as though he finally had the grenade launcher he’d been searching for. “Only one video. Just like it was one text. You’ve simplified it, thinking that we’re in some sacred space of your bedroom where no harm can be done. Same as with Brie, driving sober, when there were no other cars on the road. She still flipped that car. Brie still died, and it’s like you’re trying to find the same path.”
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