by Sienna Blake
On top of the perfectly toasted bread, Jace layers on mashed avocado mixed with black pepper and chili flakes, strips of crispy bacon, and a mound of the fluffiest, lightest scrambled eggs I’ve ever seen. He tops it off with a dollop of crème fraiche and a sprinkle of chopped chives. It’s a work of fucking art.
Then when I shove the first bite into my mouth and chew, the groan I release is almost sexual. “My God, Jace.”
Jace shifts in his seat as we sit at the table, which he has laid out with placemats and napkins. “Careful with those noises, doll. They might be the undoing of me.”
I blink at him. Jace has always been sweet with me, super friendly, but this is the first time he’s ever said anything…flirtatious.
I swallow the bite down and bat my lashes. “Careful with your cooking. You might make a girl want to marry you.”
The look he gives me is raw and honest. Yet torn. He’s torn about something. About me? But…why?
Waylyn
Jace is X’s opposite. Where X is sharp and cuts like a knife, Jason is warm and cuddly like a giant teddy bear. X will barely touch me, deliberately stepping around me if we ever pass each other, while Jace’s hands are constantly on me, massaging the back of my neck, resting on the base of my spine, squeezing my knee to punctuate as he talks.
Jace slept next to me last night without me having to ask him. He just slid into bed next to me in his briefs and wrapped his large, warm limbs over me like a cloak, tucking me against his chest with my head under his chin. I don’t think I ever slept so well. When he’s surrounding me, he’s my cuddly armour, my fierce overprotective teddy bear.
So when I wake and find that he’s already watching me, I’m not surprised.
I reach for him and he pulls me in close, pressing a kiss on my forehead, nosing my hair and breathing me in.
Warmth trickles down my body and between my legs.
I pull back, blinking at Jace, this feeling hitting me in the stomach.
Oh, God. I like him.
Not just like him as a person. But…I like him.
I want him.
I stare at his beautiful face. He could have been a model for Armani or Ralph Lauren, even with all these tattoos all over his savage-looking body. Desire surfaces in me, desire that’s always been there under the surface; I’d just never let myself feel it.
I trace his perfect tanned skin along his stubbled jaw. I want to touch his lips, to press my mouth again them.
“Oh,” he says with a long breath. Then squeezes his eyes shut.
“What?”
I can’t help myself. I trace my thumb across his plump bottom lip, then across his top one. They’re soft, softer than Magnar’s or X’s. His mouth parts. The tip of his tongue sweeps across my thumbprint. This warm want turns into a fiery need.
Oh, wow. How did I ever see him as just a friend?
My breath hitches as Jace’s large palm comes up to cup my cheek.
“I’ve been waiting…” he swallows, his gaze piercing me, “…hoping that you’d one day look at me like that.”
“Like…?” I think I know how I’m looking at him, these feelings are consuming me, leaking from my features. But I want to hear him say it.
“Like a woman looks at a man that she wants.” His lips close over mine.
My mind races, spinning a hundred miles per hour. Holy shit, I’m kissing Jace!
His tongue sweeps over my lips, asking for entrance.
I do so. Because I trust him.
The second his tongue touches mine my thoughts silence, consumed by a wave of need. I slide my hands around his thick neck, press my body up against his, eliciting a deep rumbly groan from the depths of him. His hands are heated, wanting, firm yet gentle as he pushes the straps of my top off my shoulder, then down over my breasts, following his fingers with his lips. When his mouth latches onto my nipple, I shudder. His flat tongue licks and swirls like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
He rolls me onto my back and his tongue sets a fiery trail down my body. Until his breath is chilling my damp, inner thighs and I have to fight the urge to squeeze my legs together.
His fingers worship me with every smooth movement, every reverent stroke over my hip bone, along my inner thighs. He teases me mercilessly, leaving soft nips and long, slow licks along the edges of my panties, everywhere except where it’s aching the most.
“Jason, please,” I beg as I lean on my elbows, watching him torture me.
That smile. That fucking dimple. “Shh, doll. Do you trust me?”
With my life.
I nod.
“Then let me take care of you.”
I sink back into the pillows and give in. I let go. I surrender to him. My body is his.
Perhaps that was what he was waiting for, my surrender, because his fingers tuck under the edges of my lace before trailing them down my thighs, my calves, over my ankles in a slow, sensual drag that leaves me shivering.
His breath brushes against my exposed wet sex, causing flashes of pleasure.
“You are so beautiful. So fucking perfect.” His voice vibrates against me.
Before I can respond, he leans in and drags his tongue from the bottom to the top of my slit.
The wave that rocks me is heaven. And when he does it again the wave grows, again and again, building upon each other with each lick. I grip the sheets, I moan and cry. I ache to push my pussy right into his face, but I don’t. My body doesn’t belong to me right now. I gave it to him. My complete trust is in him.
Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he slips a finger inside my entrance.
“Oh, God.” I grab a pillow and shove it into my face because I just want to scream.
I hear a muffled chuckle. “Take that pillow away. I want to see your face when I finally let you come.”
Oh, fuck.
I push the pillow aside, struggling to keep my breath steady as he slides his finger all the way in, pressing gently on this delicious spot inside before withdrawing. Then again. All the while, he laps at my clit.
I am a bundle of frayed nerves, of feeling. Jace has me in the palm of his hand, at the tip of his tongue.
My face feels hot, my body contains a million tiny fireworks, my thighs are literally shaking, and Jace is enjoying every single second of this slow, torturous climb to the edge.
The edge. It’s there. I can feel it.
He slides his finger out and I’m filled with the greatest sense of loss. I can do nothing but whimper. Then he’s pushing inside me again, stretching me, this time with two fingers. He pushes all the way to the hilt, then curls to press at my g-spot. The pressure in me builds and builds until…
He withdraws.
I let out a scream of frustration.
I am going to go mad.
He chuckles.
Chuckles, the fucking asshole. He blows cool air on my clit, so sensitive that the very air is sending tingles through me all the way to my scalp.
His tongue presses flat and deliciously wet against my bundle of nerves. It’s all I can do not to rub myself along it. He swipes side to side, left to right, fast.
The tingles keep sucking in from the edge of my body to condense into a small ball of electricity. A ball of electricity that is going to—
He withdraws again.
This time, I let out a sob. An actual fucking sob. “I hate you,” I cry.
“Doll, I am going to make you come so hard you’ll forget you ever hated me.” He pushes three fingers in this time, the stretch feeling so damn good, curls them to rub at my g-spot. Then his tongue is back on my clit, flicking me hard and fast.
I don’t climb for the edge, I fucking bullet to it, and up and over.
Pleasure explodes through me, making every muscle tense, bowing my back off the bed, a scream ripping from my lungs, stars dancing at the backs of my lids.
Wave after wave. It goes on and on. Until the last drop is drained.
I sag onto the bed, lighthead
ed, a big cheesy grin on my face as Jace pulls himself up along my body.
“Still hate me?” He kisses my mouth.
I can taste my arousal, still coating his lips. Did I hate him? How could I ever hate sweet, beautiful cuddly Jace?
I shake my head.
“Good. ’Cause we’re not done yet.”
Jace
Waylyn and I make love twice that night. After she’s fallen asleep, I stay up and watch her in the dim light.
I would never be a natural leader like Magnar—and I’ve seen the way she stares with such respect at Magnar. I would never be feared as X—and I’ve seen the way she eyes X with such awe.
I’m just…Jace.
Shoulder to cry on, Jace. Always the friend, never the lover, Jace. The “kid brother”, Jace.
But she makes me feel like so much more.
I can make her smile like no one else can. Can coax laughter from her lips like honey. She trusts me. And she moves into every single one of my touches, giving her affection back so freely that it makes me bold.
When I’m inside Waylyn, I feel like I’m giving myself to her. Like I’m humbly before her, naked and exposed, offering her my everything: body, heart and soul. She sees me, accepts me, and with every kiss and with every touch she promises, you are enough.
It’s not just the mahogany silk of her locks, the kissable shape of her rosebud mouth, or the way the slope of her hips begs to be touched. There is lightness in her soul despite her dark past. It’s the way she views the world with such…wonder and awe that makes her different. It makes me want to show her things, give her everything she never knew she might want. And more.
Anything you want, I promise the sleeping doll. I will give you anything you want.
Even if it’s Magnar you decide you want.
Or X.
X
I hated leaving Waylyn in that bed.
Hated it.
But there is more to my story than I can ever explain. Too vile to put into words. My broken pieces are much too jagged.
I can still feel her coming around my dick, still feel her body over me, the way she gave herself to me, the way her eyes roamed over my ruined body and she still…accepted me. She filled a part of my blackened soul.
Maybe…she began to heal me.
“X.”
I snap back to my present. To Magnar who is standing by my side, the dimness of the room making him look craggy as the Carrauntoohil mountain. We’re in an old freezer room of a warehouse on the outskirts of Dublin. Thick walls without windows, soundproof and most importantly, easy-to-clean surfaces.
I look to the man who sits tied to the chair. And I feel the blade handle in my hand.
This is supposed to be my meditation. Inflicting pain is a form of catharsis. Or it was. Tonight, a part of me doesn’t want to do this.
Waylyn, I think. She brushed aside the blackened surface and rediscovered a piece of my soul.
She will either save me. Or be the death of me.
I stare at the man, his eyes wide, drool coming down one side of his gagged mouth. He’s one of Keegan’s men, I remind myself. Keegan is trying to hurt Waylyn. He already hurt Waylyn.
He tried to do it again.
This man works for Keegan. So he deserves everything that I’m about to do to him.
For Waylyn.
I nod at Magnar. “Leave him with me.”
I turn to the man, my focus narrowing, vaguely aware of the footsteps behind me as everyone leaves the room. Then the clang of the metal door is like a gunshot.
The man flinches when he realises that he is now alone.
With me.
Magnar’s perfect weapon.
I smile. Feeling the numbness washing over me.
Magnar
The door to the room opens and X steps out, wiping his hands with a cloth. He stands close enough for me to smell the copper in the blood, to see the speckles of it across his face like morbid freckles.
I hate sending him in there alone. But he hates having an audience.
Brotherly affection tugs at my heart as I spot the tail end of a scar on his chest, his shirt opened and sticking to his skin with sweat.
If only I could fix X. Heal him. Go back in time and make it so those bastards never touched him. But I couldn’t. The only thing I could do was to be there for him, to hunt them down and make them pay.
They’re long gone, long turned to worm food and dust, but his scars remain.
“He was very…helpful in the end,” X says.
It never fails to surprise me when X speaks. His features are sharp but his voice is almost musical, melodic in tone. “And?” I ask.
X lifts the corner of his lip. “I know why Keegan wants her so badly.”
“You’re killing us here, X,” Liam says from behind me.
X lets out a sigh. “No appreciation for the dramatic.”
Liam snorts.
“We already know that Waylyn was conceived in the United States out of wedlock by an Irish-American named Maria Grace. Maria returned to Ireland and gave birth to her several months later.”
“You found the father?”
“Not exactly… Guess who Maria’s brother is?”
“Who?”
“Renkin McCallister.”
Keegan’s predecessor. The previous leader of the Revolutionist’s Army, our biggest rivals.
“No fucking way,” Liam mutters.
X nods. “The connection wasn’t obvious because Maria kept her mother’s maiden name rather than taking on the tainted McCallister name.”
I wasn’t surprised. The McCallister family had developed quite a bloody reputation throughout the years. “So this means…?” I ask, trying to fit these pieces together.
X’s eyes sparkle. He hasn’t finished yet. “This makes Waylyn Renkin’s niece. And…sole inheritor.”
I stumble back as this news hits me. This is why Keegan took Waylyn in after Renkin died. Five years ago.
Five years ago…
I remember Waylyn. Oh, fuck. How could I forget those eyes?
“It’s over, Keegan,” I say, gun pointed to his forehead as he knelt before me. “We have your house surrounded. Your security knocked out.”
“Of all the fucking hands to die at…” Keegan mutters. He spits out blood and it lands close to my foot.
I clench the handle of the gun tighter. “I’d give you a second to let you say your prayers, but not even God can save you now.”
A small movement from over Keegan’s shoulder catches my eye.
I can’t believe it.
Sitting there curled up in the corner of the room is a tiny girl. She mustn’t be any more than thirteen years old. Her small pale face barely visible from behind the curtain of wavy brown hair. But I can see her eyes, two frightened globes set in her face.
No innocents.
No children.
Those were my rules.
“Fucking do it,” Keegan screams.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those doe eyes of the tiny girl huddled in the corner, shaking. I don’t know who she is; Keegan doesn’t have any children. Not any legitimate ones that I know of.
It doesn’t matter who she is.
I can’t do it.
I can’t kill a man in front of her.
I fix my gaze back to Keegan; his pale, scowling face making my stomach curdle with hate. “Today is your lucky day, Keegan. Mark my words—the next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
I lower my weapon.
“I didn’t know Renkin had a niece,” Liam says, breaking through my memory.
“No one did,” X says. “Renkin hid who he was from Waylyn and hid her from the world so that she’d be protected. When she turns eighteen, she’s entitled to his entire fortune. The way he’d written it up in his will, he left everything to her.”
The picture was starting to become clearer.
“When Renkin died,” X continues, “Keegan took over, and he was furious that the cont
rol over the finances weren’t there. If Waylyn dies without an heir, everything gets handed over to a trust and supports a number of charities, schools, universities.”
“Keegan’s been biding his time,” I say, “waiting till the girl was old enough to…” To marry. My fists clench, my stomach twists at the deviousness of this man.
“You know what this means,” Liam says, his eyes on me.
“What?”
“You marry her today and you claim Renkin’s inheritance. The balance of power shifts so heavily to us, Keegan would be a fool to try to attack. There will be no need for war.”
My blood turns cold. I feel X tense beside me. “I am not going to force her to marry me.”
Liam lets out a nervous laugh. “I doubt you’d have to convince her too hard. Have you seen the way she looks at you, King?”
“I am not going to marry her,” I repeat.
Liam’s face hardens. “So you’d send your men to the slaughter instead? For what? A girl you won’t touch because you still have some kind of fucked up guilt over my dead sister?”
Liam has it all wrong.
I’m not going to marry Waylyn because I consider myself still married to Caitie.
I’m not going to marry her because she deserves more than me.
“That girl is the key to stopping the deaths of hundreds of men,” Liam continues. “Your men. Our brothers. One girl means nothing compared—”
X lets out a low growl, lashing out like lightning to grab Liam by the throat and slam him up against the wall.
Liam claws at X’s hand, his eyes bulging out of his head.
“Her name is Waylyn,” X says, his voice a deadly hiss. “And her little finger is worth more than this entire planet’s worth of men.”
I spot the telltale look on his face, those narrowed eyes flashing with bloodlust, the twitch above his top lip, the sharpness to his jaw. X is a hair’s breath away from slitting Liam’s throat.
“Stand down, X,” I say.
His eyes flash with displeasure. But he doesn’t let go.
I realise then that X is not a weapon. He’s a wild animal. And I was a fool to think that I could always keep him under control. “X,” I say gently but firmly.
