She still didn’t get why he was so amused, but it didn’t seem a bad thing. “So, you’re saying you really like having sex with me. Like, it’s the best sex ever. And you’re helpless under the spell of my hot, heaving body.”
He grunted. “I’m saying…” He stopped. Thought. “You asked me earlier if I still like you. I do. A lot. More than I have any other woman in a long, long time. Maybe ever.”
Whoa. That was so sweet. Too sweet. Made her feel guilty that, as soon as her transportation was arranged, she was going to ditch him and get back to run interference with Momma.
But it was for his own good.
Momma’s words, “M-erasure is harmless,” chilled her through and through. She wouldn’t let Momma take advantage of him anymore. No. He’d sacrificed enough for her mission, a mission that was in no way his. He was a good man and should be free to do his good work. Which meant keeping him away from Momma.
But first she was going to fuck him until his eyes rolled back in his head. Fuck him until he couldn’t do anything but pass out. She’d leave him satisfied. And sans passport, visa, and identification. Good luck getting out of Israel, buddy. No point telling him that. He wouldn’t understand.
She snuggled closer. “Get some sleep. In a little while, I’m going to wake you up so you can show me again just how deeply you like me.”
He snorted. She kissed the crook of his arm and fell asleep inhaling the musk of him.
Chapter 34
The sun made its lazy way through the blinds and across the bed. Sandesh rolled onto his side and watched it play across the soft curves of Justice’s sleeping body.
The few stitches in her side had bled through the bandage at some point. The bloodstain was dry and dark now. She had other scars here and there. Some savage. Some delicate.
They told a story. Survival and sadness. She was amazing—more complicated and interesting than any woman he’d ever been with. His cock grew hard. He pressed it into the side of her smooth leg. She smiled but kept her eyes closed.
He pressed deeper. She giggled, turned, so that her sleek, wet core met him. That was more like it. “Oh, Sandy, did you want something?”
“You. Back. Front. Over. Under me.”
She laughed out loud. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He knew enough about Justice, had learned it through repeated exchanges, that the girl liked to joust. Sometimes her jousting involved games of teasing. He did not want to be teased right now. He wanted to fuck.
He ran a hand over her breast. The tip sat up. She bit her lip, then made an “oh” sound. She grabbed his hand, pushed it aside.
Shit. Girl wanted to play.
She batted her big, dark, “screw me harder, deeper, yes there” eyes at him and began to sing. That song. From Grease. Boner killer. Nearly, anyway.
“‘Stranded at the drive in. Branded a fool. What will they say Monday at school?’”
“Stop that.”
She sang faster, louder. The stanzas weren’t even in the right order. “‘Oh, Sandy, baby, someday when high school is done. Somehow, someway, our two worlds will be one.’”
“You’re bringing up painful childhood memories.”
She giggled. And, of course, kept singing. Jokingly, he covered her mouth with his hand. She reacted like he’d whipped out a knife and held it to her throat.
She knocked his hand away, rolled on top of him. She glared down. “Don’t ever do that.”
Boundary alert. Fuck. He was an idiot. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She waited. He had no idea for what. He didn’t dare move. He felt awful. And what did it say about him that he still really wanted to have sex? Preferably soon. She began to sing again.
No way.
Now she was just challenging his manhood.
He drove his hips up so hard and fast she lifted into the air. He shot to a seated position and caught her carefully in his lap. They were face-to-face.
She cursed. It would really help if Justice pissed off wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
And if her cunt wasn’t pressed against his cock.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Stop squirming, Justice. I just want to talk.” Preferably about how we could go back to being friends. And then fuck.
She was having none of it. Her left fingers snapped out, jabbed him in the neck. Damn it. He began coughing. She pushed him flat onto the bed, so she straddled his middle. Her eyes were on fire.
How the hell had this happened?
She pressed her knees onto his biceps and her hands onto his wrists. She watched him. There was a challenge in her face. And rage.
What had started out as playful wrestling took a turn that bordered on testing. She put her face within inches of his. “What are you going to do?”
Yeah. Justice was very much interested in testing him.
Every instinct screamed for him to use his strength to easily flip her over. His cock and fists were equally hard. But instinctual reaction didn’t override his reason. Logically, he understood. He’d challenged her. She felt vulnerable.
He knew this not by the way she rolled her ass across his hard-on—that was her way of egging him on—but by the strength she put into holding him down. Her hands tighter around his wrists than was necessary. Her forearms so tensed he could see her veins.
For her, this had stopped being a game. She needed to know he would not take advantage of superior strength even though she taunted him, even though they both knew he wanted to overtake her.
She was asking if she could trust him. Any other woman, he’d probably just get up and tell her to fuck off. But this one… He wanted her to know. He would never cross that line. Not emotionally and certainly not physically—unless she spoke the words and gave the unequivocal signal that that was what she wanted.
And then it would be playing.
He gritted his teeth. Her ass rolled across the tip of his cock. Fuck. She was going to torture the shit out of him. His breath became ragged. The sound of it filled the room.
She stared at him. Her dark eyes teasing and serious as he walked the edge of wanting and fury. “You were saying?” She began to hum that song as the softest part of her body, the moist wetness, gyrated against him. This might have been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Literally.
He wanted to roll her over. He wanted to fuck her.
She increased the friction, humming that damn song louder. His body responded automatically, adding moisture to accompany her rhythm. He didn’t follow his instinct. More than anything, he wanted her to trust him. He watched her, waited for her to get it.
A well-worn Shakespeare phrase filtered through his head. “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”
He had the good sense to keep quiet.
A long moment of sweet friction that felt as much like losing as winning. Damn fucked-up ego. She eased up. She smiled, as if they’d reached some kind of understanding.
She lowered her face to his. “I like you.” She kissed him. It was long and deep and set his body thrumming. “I really like you.”
Her soft lips pressed his, then slipped to his chin, his neck. She kissed the hollow at the base of his neck. Her hands came off his wrists. She stroked his biceps, his chest. Her hips rolled faster against his cock.
She kissed down his body. Her core lifted from his cock. He fisted his hands in the sheets so he wouldn’t grab her. She was in the driver’s seat, and he wanted to see where she’d ride him.
She moaned, sucked on her pinky finger. Then her hot lips trailed soft, sucking kisses down across his abs. Her mouth. Shit. She was going to…
She found the tip of his penis and sucked it inside, without her hands, which were busy doing other things.
The p
inky of her right hand slowly circled and entered him from behind. Shit. So smooth and sweet. She knew what she was doing.
Her tongue moved against the head of his cock. Her mouth ground lower, putting pressure and releasing. The pace was excruciatingly good. He moaned and bucked into her mouth.
She began to stroke the base of his cock with her other hand as she sucked him off and gyrated the soft tip of her finger inside his ass. Goddamn.
He’d had blow jobs before. Had amazing blow jobs before, but he had no idea how anything could feel so fucking good. Her pace increased. He had to calm himself, get some control. No chance. She sucked and rolled and pumped. The orgasm slammed into him as hard and unexpected as a summer storm.
“Fuck. Yes. Justice. Fuck!” He rocked into her mouth as his cock exploded. She sucked him down, swallowed his come as her dark eyes dipped closed.
When the final shocks of pleasure receded, his body collapsed back against the mattress. She sat up and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
He wanted to move, grab her to him, but she’d absorbed every bit of energy and need out of him. He was too satiated to stir. She flopped on top of him, grinning like she’d won, had the trophy, the blue ribbon, and the crown. Damn. Yeah. He’d give her that.
She smelled of his musk. And like Justice. He closed his eyes. He kissed the top of her head. He found his voice. Barely. “In two hours, I’m going to wake up and return the favor. Then I’m going to roll you over and fuck you until you scream my name.”
She chuckled. “I’ll set my clock.”
Chapter 35
Two hours ended up being four, but in every other way, Sandesh was as good as his word.
Electric zings still ricocheted inside her from the orgasm that had sent her screaming his name.
Now, his strong hands gripped her sides and flipped her over. He stood, pulling her over to the side of the bed. She obliged with a happy little raise of her hips. She still wasn’t high enough. He was tall. He positioned her on all fours, slapped her once on the ass.
She looked back at him. He grinned and slipped his hard cock into her. She gasped. Was there anything better than the feel of him entering her, filling her?
He grasped her hips, tightly grinding her onto his cock as he drove slowly into her.
She moaned. Oh. Yes. That. Much better.
She began making yes-more-now-please noises. His body picked up the pace. His cock was so hard. The friction so good. Her body began to hum as he slapped hard into her.
The heat and pressure built. A coil of energy pulled at her core. The heat rose, lowered, tightened. He reached around and pressed his thumb against her clit.
She cried out. She rocked frantically back into him, slamming against every demanding thrust. Sandesh began to lose his tempo, cursed hotly, gained control, and kept his pace for her. His thumb insistent against her. Her orgasm broke over her, racking her inside and out.
He let out a groan that was part relief, part single-minded intent. He grasped her hips, his fingers digging into her hip bones. He pushed wild and hard, sending the tingles of her orgasm rippling through her. His pace shattered.
“Justice.” Her name on his lips sounded like a declaration. And he came inside her with a thick heat that felt a lot like confirmation.
He pulled out of her, and she crawled up onto the bed, leaving a space for him. He joined her. She pressed herself to his front, and he snaked his arms around her.
He stared at her for a long moment as the space between them heated with their heavy breaths. His eyes turned serious, caring. “In all the things I’ve seen, places I’ve been, women I’ve known, you are so solely unique that I feel driven to pay homage to you.” He traced her lips, nose, cheek with his finger. “If I were a writer, I’d use words. A sculptor, clay. An artist, paint.” He ran his hand along her body and cupped her ass. “But I’m a soldier, and all I have is my allegiance. So that’s what I’ll use to worship you.”
He kissed her on the ear and wrapped his arms around her again, squeezing her body hard to his chest. “You’re not leaving this country without me.”
She’d been drifting asleep, but that woke her. Whoa. Was she that easy to read? “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you might’ve started this war, but I’m in it now. The IPT’s mission in Jordan is compromised. Salma’s Gems are in hiding. Walid is still out there.” He ran a hand along her cheek. “Someone has betrayed you. You’re in danger. And if you think you can ditch me, get back to the States before me, do whatever it is you do, and not have me by your side, think again. You go. I go.”
They stared at each other.
His eyes softened. He looked at her as if seeing something wondrous. He looked at her as if she had killed him. And saved him. He looked at her as if he understood and accepted her.
And she felt him everywhere. In the heat between her thighs. The moisture in her mouth. The beat of her heart. The pull of her thoughts. The scent of him on her body. Everywhere was Sandesh.
Chapter 36
Sandesh knew he was alone the moment he woke to the sun streaming in through the hotel room window. She’d gone. She’d fucked him into a coma and then she’d gone. He flung his arm over his eyes.
It had been absolutely worth it.
He knew where she lived. And he’d been expecting this.
He reached over and grabbed his cell. He checked his email for the confirmation on his flight. He had a couple of hours.
He rolled out of bed and saw his jeans scattered on the floor. He wasn’t a neat freak, but this room was compact enough that if he’d left them on the floor, he and Justice might have tripped on them.
Shit.
He ran over, picked them up, checked the pockets. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
He was going to kill Justice. She’d taken his ID, passport, and multi-entrance visa.
Did she think she could throw him off the trail of what her family was? Did she think a couple of days stranded here would keep him from asking the questions he needed answered? From stepping up to help her against Walid? He spiked the jeans into the floor and dropped back onto the bed.
He was part of this battle now, in whatever war Mukta and Justice had conjured up. More importantly, Mukta Parish owed him the truth. Not just what Justice had shared, but what he had his deeper suspicions about.
The Parish clan was notorious worldwide. They were all so driven. You couldn’t open a paper without seeing one of them somewhere—a foreign country doing aid work, lobbying for reforms, or visiting world leaders.
Could this be part of deeper, hidden activities? If he did research, would he find Parish family travels mirrored darker events in certain areas? Events aimed at taking out men or those who’d harmed women or women’s rights? Hmmm. He was going to better acquaint himself with Parish Industries and Mukta Parish.
He rolled onto his side and took a deep breath. Justice. The sheets and pillows buzzed with her unique, spicy scent—distinctly female.
God. He wanted her. Even now.
He was in it deep. Had no idea when it had happened. When he tried to find the exact moment, a dozen vivid images of Justice tortured him.
Justice pushing boldly into her mother’s office.
Justice’s hand opening to his on the plane.
Justice’s eager responses as he thrust into her body. And his overpowering need to get deeper, closer. And an orgasm that had felt like surrender. And finding home. And purpose. And more.
Which made no sense, because at this very moment, he couldn’t recall ever being this pissed off at anyone. He had a group of women in hiding in Jordan, women saved from a man who still had money and power enough to make their lives a misery. The IPT’s mission was in jeopardy there. Hell, globally. And until he handled Walid, he couldn’t press on like nothing had happened.
He’d told her that. And she’d s
till taken his shit and left. Odd that the pillow smelled so sweet when the woman herself was frustrating as hell.
He shoved off the pillow, grabbed his phone, and pressed the preset for Victor. If Justice thought she could sneak out and he would just stay put, wait for her to solve his problems, to take out the threat while he was trapped in Israel, she had another think coming.
Chapter 37
Having slept very little on the plane—guilt did that to you—Justice drove her Jeep up the winding hill to the Mantua Home. The L-shaped mansion sat atop the highest hill on campus. It overlooked the entire Mantua Academy.
Justice swung around the stone fountain and parked.
She got out of her car. Stretched. Her side still hurt. But not as badly. The Mantua Home. Just home. Special not because it had thirty thousand square feet, or mullion- and tracery-arched windows, or any of the historical stone etchings, but because of the people. And the memories.
A pit of doubt rooted in her throat. Something had changed. In some way, it hurt worse than any prior betrayal. It had taken her a long time to find trust again after what her father had done.
Gracie. Dada. Tony. Bridget.
One of them had given Walid the ability to track her. One of them had almost gotten her killed.
Above the house, the last blush of departing sun winked away. The lights along her home’s exterior popped to life, as did the lights along the cobbled driveway. The air smelled of spring, freshly turned earth and the bright perfume of the early-flowering hawthorn that dotted the extensive and expert landscaping.
That smell brought sharply to mind spring jackets and childhood memories. Testing boundaries and getting in trouble. How many times had Momma warned her, “Justice, there are some lines you cannot cross”?
She’d crossed those lines. Repeatedly. And paid the price. She’d never had a problem facing the consequences for her actions. But now it involved more than her.
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