by Jory Strong
Mine. Every thundering beat of his heart announced she belonged to him.
Her fingers left his hair, nails scraping over his back, fuelling the inferno inside him. She didn’t have any idea exactly how hot the fire she was playing with was going to get.
He opened his eyes, secured her wrists, watched her pupils dilate the way he’d always known they would when he took control. He held her hands to the mattress inches away from the headboard. Allowed himself to briefly imagine them tethered.
It’d happen. He’d need it to happen, so he’d know deep in his gut he had her trust. So they’d both know she absolutely believed he would keep her safe.
His mouth returned to hers. He welcomed the feel of her legs going around him, making it harder for him to get inside her, prolonging the ecstasy of this first time covering her body, of having her soft and yielding beneath him.
He rocked against her, his cock striking her clit. His tongue thrusting against hers, each kiss growing into something harder, fiercer, into a demand for total surrender.
“Please, Cade,” she said, legs falling away from his waist, her smooth little pussy rubbing against his cock, begging prettily, sweetly for him to be inside her.
He couldn’t deny her. Couldn’t deny himself any longer.
His lips covered hers to prevent her from thinking about protection, from insisting on a condom. They didn’t need any barriers between them, especially not that one.
He kept her hands penned to the mattress. Found her opening and fought the urge to thrust all the way in at once, fought the fear he might come before he actually got all the way in.
A shudder racked his body. Fuck, nothing had ever felt as good as being inside Grace. If he’d known it’d be like this, he’d never have managed to wait to be with her.
Even stoned and drunk, in those wild days before Judge Hargrave changed the course of his life with the choice between jail or the Marines, he’d never, ever, had unprotected sex. Not until now. Not until Grace.
He pushed deeper, gave her more of his weight. Drank in the sound of her pleasure like a man who’d been dying of thirst and didn’t know it.
He managed only a moment of stillness, his eyes meeting hers. And then stillness became impossible.
Grace.
Grace.
Every thrust sounded her name in his head. Every thrust was an admission of love though he didn’t say the words. She had to know what it meant, for him to be inside her bare.
He read her body with his. Measured her need by the sounds she made.
Allowed slow thrusts to give way to faster, harder, deeper. Driving them both closer to the ecstasy that’d have her crying out his name again, the ecstasy that’d have him coming inside her.
He rocked his pelvis against hers, his mouth leaving hers. They locked eyes and there was no holding back the swell of possessiveness, the need to dominate.
He changed the angle to hit her clit just right.
Each thrust made her cry out. Each thrust drove her toward climax.
He took control of it, took her to the edge. Sent her over then surrendered to frenzied thrusting and the exhilarating rush of coming.
And there was no way it was even close to the end. He couldn’t separate, not even long enough to slide off and pull her against him.
Her face was flushed. Her lips wet and swollen. Her eyes closed, little tremors of pleasure still going through her body.
I love you.
It rose upward from his heart, only to be caught in his throat and held there because of Mace, because he had no way of knowing if his brother was going to come to his senses or if Grace even knew being with Mace was a possibility.
Take her with me once, I dare you.
Fuck. Once with Grace and a part of him regretted the dare. It’d kill him to share her casually, even with Mace.
It won’t turn out to be casual. Once and he’ll admit to feeling the same way I do.
But there were no guarantees. He couldn’t tell Grace he loved her then tell her he wanted to share her with Mace. He couldn’t tell her he loved her then expect her to surrender if Mace made a move while he wasn’t around.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Grace,” he said against her mouth, whispered kisses across her cheek, along her neck. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Her hands, still penned to the mattress, pushed against his in a bid for freedom.
He let them go and they went to his hair, combed through it then moved to trace his shoulder blades.
“Why did you come here?” Grace asked, hating that she couldn’t suppress the question though she managed to hold the others. Why pick me? Why now?
He shifted his weight from his forearms to his elbows, the movement thrusting his partially softened cock deeper. And her legs went around his waist, tightened in a message of need.
His eyes met hers, dark and serious, not filled with masculine satisfaction, or masculine humor given he was still inside her. “You had to know this was inevitable.”
Longing swelled, to read more into his expression, his words. She didn’t dare. He already made her feel vulnerable, exposed, raw.
“Did I?” she asked, keeping her voice light and teasing.
She tightened her legs in an effort to exchange emotional feelings for the physical, her pussy cooperating, clamping and fluttering against his cock.
Cade’s eyes hardened. His lips firmed.
Fear of his discovering the depth of her feelings for him sped her heart. She grasped his hair, fingers tangling in the black strands, drawing his face downward.
“Show me why this was inevitable,” she whispered.
His lips took hers, as hard and demanding as his expression had been. His tongue thrust against hers, carrying the message, you can’t hide from me.
Her heart thundered in response, splitting, half of it charging downward to her sex, the other half upward to her mouth as if it’d willingly enter his body and slide into his chest to live alongside his. And she was helpless to do anything about it. She’d always been helpless when it came to her attraction to Mace and Cade.
Need built between her legs. In her breasts. It intensified with the hardening of his cock inside her.
She writhed beneath him, pleaded with soft mewling sounds she barely recognized as coming from her throat.
Please her body cried. Please.
He lifted his head. The hard look was still in his eyes, the lips that had demanded while delivering pleasure hadn’t softened.
A shiver moved through her, an acknowledgment of how she was wired, what she craved.
His cock throbbed inside her. His expression changed. Dark satisfaction.
“You want proof this was inevitable?”
He lifted off her.
She cried out at the loss.
He knelt between her splayed thighs, his cock rigid and wet, pulling away from taut abs.
“It was inevitable that day I showed up at Michael’s poker game. You looked at me and I could read the fantasies spilling into your head. It’s been the same every time since then. You’ve wanted me to take charge of you and that’s what I intend to do. Touch that sweet pussy, Grace. Make yourself come.”
Heat flushed through her body. She wanted to obey. She didn’t want to.
This was too real. Touching herself like that—
Cade’s hand whipped out, came down on her pussy, delivering a stinging slap.
Her hips jerked upward, her body not wanting to lose the contact, craving more of it.
His hand cupped her, trapping the heat of his sensual discipline. “Touch this sweet pussy, Grace. I want to watch you pleasure yourself. I want to watch you come.”
Face flaming, her hand went to her stomach, traveled downward, replacing his on her smooth mound. How many times had she fantasized about him demanding this?
Her eyes closed.
“No,” he said, you don’t get to hide in his voice.
But she wanted to. Her eyelids were weigh
ted down by the desire to treat being with him as a fantasy.
“Open your eyes, Grace.”
The edge in his voice had her obeying, want intensifying at the desire she read in his expression, the will to thoroughly dominate.
Her heart fluttered. Her body trembled with the need to be on the receiving end of what his look promised.
She slicked her fingers from the wetness coating the lips of her sex, began stroking her clit with one hand while the other went to her breast, rubbing and grasping a nipple.
His cock bobbed. Thrilling her. Emboldening her, allowing her to live in the moment, to care only about the now of being with Cade, of pleasing Cade.
Her hands firmed. Demanded. Built the need to come a stroke at a time. A press and rub.
Her body tightened. Her breath grew short.
“Please, Cade.”
He came over her, braced one hand against the mattress while the other covered hers between her legs, controlled her movements, turning pleasure into a firestorm that engulfed her, searing away everything but pulsing to-die-for sensation.
She rode it. Never wanted to leave it. Especially when Cade added the heat of his skin against hers.
“Look at me, Grace.”
Somehow she managed it.
Masculine satisfaction glittered in his eyes. He penned her hands to the bed again.
“It was inevitable because you need me,” he said, entering her, making it impossible to argue.
Chapter Three
Cade woke on his side with Grace in his arms, her back pressed to his chest, her soft ass pressed to morning wood. He touched his mouth to her shoulder, cupped her breast.
She had gorgeous breasts. Perfect breasts. Just-the-right-size breasts capped with beautiful pink nipples.
He rubbed a nipple, felt the moment she woke, the slight tremor that said she knew who was in bed with her.
She’d damn well better know. Though the thought brought a grimace. He’d been guilty of not knowing, not without opening his eyes and getting a look at the woman to prod his memory.
Hadn’t happened this morning. Wouldn’t ever happen again.
Her nipple tightened. Her ass pushed against his cock but there was a subtle tension in Grace, as if last night didn’t have anything to do with today.
Wrong. If she didn’t have a clue about just how wrong she was, she was going to get one pretty damn quick.
He grasped the nipple. Squeezed. Tugged.
Her back arched, her body wanting despite what her mind might be telling her.
This was inevitable, Grace. We’re inevitable.
And Mace?
Shaking off that worry, he kissed his way to her ear, fucked his tongue into it, eliciting a moan of need. One that pulsed right into him, going straight to his dick.
The hand on her breast moved lower, over a flat, feminine stomach, to the smooth, bare mound that’d snapped his control last night.
He rubbed his fingers over her clit, feral satisfaction gripping him at the way her hips jerked and her thighs parted, silently pleading for him to touch what belonged to him, silently begging him to pleasure her—and he would, but it wasn’t going to come free.
He pressed her clit, putting more pressure there, his fingertips dipping, discovering how wet and ready she was, how swollen and needy.
“Tell me you want me. Say the words, Grace.”
“I want you.”
The capitulation was too easy. Too fast, Grace telling herself this was only sex.
Wrong again. But he wouldn’t convince her with words.
He rolled them so she lay beneath him, her chest pressed to the bedding. He put his mouth where her neck met her shoulder. Sucked, let her feel his teeth.
She moved restlessly beneath him, craving the mark of ownership. Her legs parting, her hips tilting, begging for him to enter and claim her.
This is more than a morning fuck, Grace. It’s not going to end in goodbye and I’ll see you around.
He sucked harder. Used his teeth to mark her skin, a warning to other guys that she was taken, a message he hoped would push Mace into acting.
It was primitive. Fuck yeah, it was primitive, but this was Grace. She made him feel primitive.
He licked the mark he’d left on her skin. Sucked then kissed his way to her ear.
Separating just far enough to allow her to obey, he said, “Lift your ass.”
When she did he grabbed a pillow, shoved it under her hips.
Another time he’d order her onto her knees, tell her to keep her elbows on the mattress, but this time…this time he was driven to prove his strength by letting her feel the ripple of his muscles, his weight, the inferno his body had become because of her.
He entered, filling her in a single thrust.
This isn’t only about sex, Grace.
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.”
He rewarded her with a thrust. Growled, “Again.”
“I want you.”
“Again.”
He thrust faster. Harder.
Demanded the admission each time he forged into her, wanted those words burned into her heart and mind and body like a brand.
He only relented at the very end, accepting her cry of release instead of the words. Then flooding her channel with come.
“This doesn’t end here, Grace.” You’re mine, whether you realize it yet or not.
The words made Grace’s heart race faster. It shouldn’t even be able to race any faster, but somehow it did.
Cade pulled out, moving off her, and it was as if the sunshine streaming through the window brought sudden clarity and pointed out the unmistakable. He wasn’t wearing a condom.
She almost panicked, stopped short of it by reminding herself that this was Cade. She trusted him. He wouldn’t have slept with her unless he was sure he was safe. Though why he hadn’t made sure that she was, hadn’t mentioned birth control—
He probably knows that I am, that I’ve got an implant. Easy enough to find out.
She squirmed at imagining him playing poker with Lyric for those kinds of intimate details. Truth, she didn’t know how she felt about the members of her family knowing she’d become another of his conquests.
Too late to worry about it now. And she wasn’t sorry.
Whatever had brought him to her door last night, she didn’t regret letting him in, didn’t regret that she’d given in to the desire she felt for him and lived the fantasy, or at least one third of the fantasy, if the other parts of it were Mace and the three of them together.
She didn’t regret what’d happened, but…
Now it was time to face the morning after, to get on with her real life, which included her first solo case.
Toenails clicking on hardwood floor and a hoarse woof woof gave her the motivation she needed.
“Perry needs his breakfast.”
She got out of bed and grabbed clothes. At the bathroom door she couldn’t keep from looking back to memorize the sight of Cade lying on her bed naked.
God, he was gorgeous. The label of tall, dark and handsome didn’t even come close to capturing the potent, dangerously seductive masculinity, the control that challenged and at the same time created a craving to surrender everything—even knowing he didn’t want everything.
No promises. No strings. No future together.
That was the mantra he lived by. That was the one Mace lived by. She knew it because Braden loved quoting it.
A shiver of worry went through her at the heat in Cade’s eyes, the expression that said he wasn’t going to leave as suddenly as he’d appeared. She couldn’t afford to get involved with him. Her heart could only barely handle a night of casual.
Hah! Casual wasn’t an easy word to associate with Cade. Even playing he was intense, totally, completely, naturally dominant.
She locked the bathroom door.
It was a chicken move. She knew it was a chicken move, but this time, she listened to the voice of sel
f-preservation and it said, I can’t handle the intimacy of taking a shower with him.
So she locked it. She lingered beneath the water, hoping it would clear her head and rid her body of a continued longing for Cade.
It didn’t.
But the shower, the time it took to dry and French braid her hair, the armor of clothing, all helped her feel more in control—until she opened the bathroom door to Cade.
He gasped her hair. Forced her gaze to his. “You don’t want to put a locked door between us again, Grace.”
The growl in his voice, the over-the-top dominance had her nipples going instantly tight and her womb fluttering. It had her sex swelling, dampening her panties, further proof of the way she was wired, not that she needed proof.
She’d had the proof the instant Cade commanded her to invite him in. Known how deeply the craving for submission went when he’d ordered her to strip.
Didn’t mean she had to feed the need today.
“Okay. No locked doors.” Easy enough to say. He wouldn’t be around for long.
His eyes narrowed. She felt a surge of returned power. Despite what’d happened between them, she was her own woman. The no strings, no promises, no future together worked both ways.
Sharp ache flared in her heart. Not unexpected, but she refused to let it linger.
“Omelets okay with you?” she asked, proud of herself for sounding normal, proud of herself for sounding as if dealing with the morning after was no big deal, nothing she hadn’t done before, many times.
Hah. As if. But Cade didn’t need to know that. Then again, Cade had probably had thousands of morning afters, so maybe it didn’t even occur to him that this was something to get through.
The ache returned at the reminder of Cade’s track record when it came to women.
Don’t go there.
Picturing him, Mace—them—with other women was a mental place she’d done her best to avoid. It was the reason she never, ever stepped foot in the bars they owned, or went to their house when they hosted casino nights or big poker games. Bad enough to know, worse was to actually see, and thankfully they’d never brought dates to Montgomery and Maguire events.
Cade released her hair. His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip.
