by Jory Strong
Now, Grace! Now, Grace!
She came. He followed, experiencing the ecstasy of unprotected sex for the first time in his life.
Pleasure shuddered through him, wave after wave that kept him thrusting, chasing the ecstasy and wanting to harden and come again and again inside her.
Grace. Her name looped through his head.
He stopped moving. His head cleared.
He rolled, taking her with him so their positions were reversed. He combed his fingers through her hair, traced the line of her spine, hazy afterglow fading and leading to thoughts of Cade being with her.
“Did he use a condom?”
She twitched, started to lift away.
He prevented it.
“No,” she said, whisper soft, like a guilty admission.
It grated. Yet it freed at the same time because it meant Cade had lost control.
Lie.
Cade hadn’t lost control. Cade had gone in unprotected because he meant to do it, because he was done with casual.
And me?
Ache spread through his chest. Wanting didn’t mean having, even when it came to Grace. Especially when it came to Grace.
Fuck, he remembered the time she’d roped Michael and him into helping out at a physical fitness competition one of her teacher friends had organized. They’d needed coaches, timers, counters, race starters, cheerleaders, the works.
Grace had been so freaking good with those kids. It’d made him ache watching her with them. It’d made him dream. It’d made him hope. One day—
And he’d just gone in without a condom.
It didn’t mean she’d read anything into it. Didn’t mean he should either.
There were so many ways this could go bad. Cade didn’t see it. Cade wouldn’t see it. Maybe he couldn’t. He carried a load of bullshit guilt when it came to their mother, all because her getting knocked-up with him had led to her shackling herself to their old man.
He’d never seen the truth about their mother. Cade saw weak, helpless, a victim, and she’d been those things. But she’d also tried to set them against each other, hating their solidarity. She’d played little games, did things she knew would set their old man off, then redirected his attention so his precious boys would take the brunt of his anger.
Precious, fuck. He and Cade had never been anything to their old man but something else to control.
Mace inhaled deeply, trying to rid his head of childhood-created toxins.
The scent of sex and Grace filled his nostrils, bringing the ache back to his chest. He couldn’t see her deliberately pitting him against Cade. Not now. Not in this moment. But that didn’t mean this wouldn’t go bad.
He smoothed his hands over Grace’s back, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, the silence between them becoming heavy.
Say something.
He couldn’t think of a fucking thing.
She tried to separate.
He let her go.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” she said, scurrying to the bathroom and disappearing without looking back.
Fuck! Fuck! He scrubbed his hands over his face. If he followed her into the shower, he’d hit his knees the minute he was in the shower stall and press his mouth to her pussy.
He wanted to taste her. To smell himself on her.
It was raw, primitive, further warning as to just how far gone he was, just how lost in her he could become.
Separation was sanity.
It was hell. Made hotter, fiercer when she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hiding her beautiful body from him after what they’d done together.
She gathered fresh clothes, acted as though she intended to slip from the bedroom and get dressed out of his sight.
Fuck that! “Drop the towel, Grace. You’re not going to hide your body from me.”
The towel shook slightly and that evidence of erotic fear made him want her so badly he nearly gripped and stroked his cock to speed its hardening.
One time. This still counted as the one time alone with her.
He rose from the bed, took a step forward and saw her tremble, watched her eyes darken and her lips part.
The gathered clothes dropped to the floor. The towel fell away.
Another step and he was exactly where he’d known he’d be if he followed her into the bathroom. He was on his knees, his mouth pressed to her pussy, kissing her smooth mound, inhaling her scent, worshiping her with kisses and surrendering one moan after another, his tongue darting out, swirling and dipping and tasting.
He might as well be an addict. She was probably just as dangerous to his willpower as any street drug. Just as potentially devastating.
“Mace,” she whimpered, hands fisting in his hair, and like any junkie, all he cared about was riding the high, knowing as soon as it was done, he’d be thinking about the next one.
Chapter Seven
“Mace,” Grace moaned, pleasure engulfing her, centered in her sex and streaking into her ass, down to her toes and up to her breasts, gathering and building.
She was becoming consumed by him, by the need for him. Once no longer seemed enough. Once seemed like wrenching the gates open so there would always be a craving for more.
His mouth delivered the same ecstasy Cade’s had and she didn’t bother telling herself it was because waxing made everything better, more intense. It was being with them.
The pressure inside her built with each of Mace’s licks, with each of his sucks, with each thrust of his tongue. All she could do was cling, climb, crest—
Try to avoid collapse.
Mace rose to his feet, took her mouth with his.
She liked finding her taste on him every bit as much as she liked finding it on Cade. Escape seemed the sanest option, the smartest one, but she didn’t pull from the embrace.
She held on to him, loving the press of his body to hers, his strength and heat. Need built again. Swelling with a thousand fantasies, augmented by the press of his hard cock against her sex, the touch of its wet tip to her stomach.
He walked her backward, stopped and growled against her lips, “Turn around, Grace. Put your hands on the dresser.”
Desire shuddered through her. She obeyed, wishing they were in the bathroom instead, her hands on the counter, their images captured in the mirror.
His hands gripped her hips. Her eyes instinctively sought his in the nonexistent mirror, wanting that deeper connection, and the voice of self-preservation whispered it was safer without it, less lethal to her heart.
His cock pushed in, stretching her, filling her with hot pleasure. She closed her eyes. Closed her mind to warnings that were already too late.
She gave herself over to the ecstasy of being with Mace, to coming for Mace and having Mace come inside her, her traitorous heart fluttering with joy when his hands joined hers on the dresser and the front of his body covered the back of hers.
I want this forever.
Don’t!
Their breathing slowed. He moved, taking his cock and his wonderful body heat with him.
It was just as well.
At least her mind felt clearer—an amazing benefit of great sex.
S—E—X.
She needed to remember that. She needed to remember that she had other, important things going on in her life. Though when he turned her to face him, it was hard to remember what they were.
Mace was looking at her the same way Cade did, dominance and possessiveness pouring off him.
Her heart fluttered. Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t as casual as they were both pretending it was.
He gave her a hard kiss, said, “Get dressed while I take a shower.”
Heat rushed up her neck and into her cheeks. She didn’t need a psychology degree to know he wanted her panties to smell like him, be wet because of him—now while they were alone and later when she was with Cade.
She crouched and gathered her clothing. She left the towel, sure that if sh
e reached for it, he’d think she intended to wipe away the evidence she’d been with him and use it as an excuse to deliver a spanking.
Her nipples tightened. Her body responded despite her mind saying, Enough already. Enough.
She had a case to solve, her very first solo case. Time to put fantasy aside. Even telling herself that, a little thrill shot through her at slipping her panties on and seeing the masculine satisfaction in Mace’s expression.
She finished dressing, recovered her cell phone. Texted Cade on the way to the kitchen, her default destination. Anything new?
No. He didn’t ask if there was anything new on her end.
Probably because he knows the only thing happening here is me having sex with his brother.
She frowned, not liking the mixed way that made her feel. On the one hand, it was wickedly titillating. On the other, her job was important to her.
Yeah, definitely time to get back to concentrating on the case. Even if she now had Cade and Mace in her life—for however long they were in it.
To prevent herself from continuing that direction of thought, she speed-dialed Lyric.
“Wondered when I’d hear from you,” Lyric said.
“Did you get anything from your contacts?”
“Nothing good. A strong likelihood of involvement with a Mexican cartel. It’s a pretty sure thing they move drugs onto the street locally as well as help transport them north and east.”
“Any known connection between a gang member or cartel member and Avery?”
“No, and I asked. Be careful, Grace.”
“Always.”
Mace chose that moment to walk into the kitchen bare-chested and bare-footed.
Her heart flipped. She pocketed the cell.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Lyric. I was checking to see if her sources had anything useful. None of them put Avery with anyone connected to the gang or the gym.”
She turned toward the counter. The drugs, the cartel connection, no surprise there, no point in stirring Mace’s protectiveness and turning it into an overprotectiveness that could only lead to conflict.
He crowded her, his chest to her back, his arms on either side of her, caging her in place, so much like in the bedroom that she clamped her thighs together against the sudden need to have him cover her again, join his body to hers again.
“It’d be a mistake to hold out on me, Grace. Is that all Lyric gave you?”
The harsh edge in his voice vibrated the internal wiring that made her crave being dominated, possessed, protected. A shiver went through her. She thought this was how it was between Lyric and her uber-macho vice cop, between Calista and her men, but especially between Calista and Dante.
Deflecting, she asked, “Bacon, lettuce, tomato good with you?”
Hot lips on her neck, the sharp ecstasy of Mace’s teeth clamping, delivering a warning, marked her failure to change the subject.
Continue resisting? Or give in?
No, not surrender—compromise in this case.
“She didn’t tell me anything that wasn’t already pretty much a given. There’s a connection to a Mexican cartel and the gang is moving drugs. Satisfied?”
Her voice held a bite.
He answered with the press of teeth, the hot lick of his tongue, a sucking kiss, a murmured, “Just barely. I’m just barely satisfied.”
Her nipples turned into hard knots. She closed her eyes, resisted the urge to turn in his arms, touch her mouth to his because she was pretty sure that’d lead to his lifting her onto the counter and taking her there.
Somehow she managed another redirection attempt. “Does a bacon, lettuce, tomato sandwich work for you?”
Mace brushed a kiss against her neck then stepped away from her. “That’ll hit the spot. You check in with Cade?”
“Texted him. Nothing new on his end.”
The dog door flaps pushed inward and Perry came inside. Mace smiled as he crouched to meet Perry and warmth spread through her chest, followed by an ache she refused to examine.
Perry’s tail whipped back and forth about ten times faster than his legs were capable of moving. His eyes closed in bliss as Mace petted him. She understood the reaction. Totally.
“That’s Perry.”
“This is obviously Lyric’s doing.”
“True.”
“She asked Cade and me if we’d be interested in taking a couple of dachshunds but we passed. We’re not home enough.”
Warm ache turned into a hot knot where her heart was, a tightness in her throat. No, they weren’t home enough to have a dog. They were at one of their bars, surrounded by willing women. They were going home with a new conquest or getting in late and not alone. She might have made a point of trying never to see them while they were playing, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hear about it.
Michael, in particular, living up to his reputation as an uber-protective big brother, loved to mention their exploits, the same way he used to do when she was crushing on unattainable rock stars as a tween, and showing an interest in neighborhood bad boys as a teen.
It was a good thing he was in Atlantic City. If he knew she’d become part of the parade of lovers through Mace and Cade’s lives—
Grace blinked against the sudden sting of tears.
Get a grip here! You went into this with your eyes wide open.
Mace hadn’t made any promises. Cade hadn’t either, not really.
She concentrated on making the sandwiches. Getting them on the table along with drinks, then maintaining casual conversation while they ate and dealt with the dishes.
Her nerves started feeling stretched thin. She liked being with Mace too much. Could easily imagine herself sliding too deeply into the fantasy of having him in her life fulltime.
“If you’ve got stuff to do, you can head out,” she said.
Mace laughed. What else could he do? Did she seriously think she could get rid of him?
Not a fucking chance.
“Not happening. Where are the reports the other PI generated?”
Her expression turned stubborn.
It took everything he had not to jerk her to him and slam his mouth onto hers, forcing those firmed, challenging lips to open and soften.
“Okay, you don’t want to work on the case? I’m good with going back to bed.”
“That is not happening.”
Oh yeah? He could make it happen. He’d enjoy making it happen, and enjoy what happened once they were back in bed even more. But the sooner they were done with this case, the better all the way around.
“Cade would kill me if I left you unprotected. Come on, Grace, let me see the notes. Trust me.”
She huffed out a breath. He hid his smile at her surrender.
“I do trust you,” she said. “But this is my case, Mace. I’m calling the shots.”
He hid a grin. It was way too easy to imagine her trying that same line on his brother, and just what Cade’s reaction to it would have been. Same as his.
Total bullshit, Grace. Not that he’d waste the energy contradicting her as to just who was in charge.
“Whatever you say,” he told her.
Her eyes narrowed.
He threw his hands up in surrender. “Peace, Grace. Peace.”
Her move now. If she pushed him into a demonstration of just who was in charge—
Fuck. He was already in too deep. If he spanked her, forced her to acknowledge she belonged to h—
Cade. Just to Cade. That’s how it needed to be.
She gave him a look then left the kitchen.
He took a moment. Took a couple of deep breaths then followed her into the living room. Watched her lift Perry onto a chair before she disappeared into a smaller bedroom turned into an office.
He plopped on the couch, giving her some space. He’d have to remember she’d been studying psychology from the cradle. She’d learned how to read people by growing up in a family of gamblers. Tie that together with the book lea
rning, the poker playing, the fact she was Grace and the ability to hide anything from her was already heading toward nonexistent, he and Cade were going to have to be careful how they approached things, how they—
They?
The tightness in his chest intensified.
He huffed out a breath. Yeah, they, at least when it came to easing her out of this kind of work. It’d tear him up if something happened to her. It’d destroy Cade now that he’d committed.
Grace didn’t need to demonstrate she was as mentally and physically tough as her cousins or siblings. That’s what this had to be about. There’d never been even a hint of her wanting to work for Crime Tells.
Now suddenly, she’s doing it?
That was going to change. She didn’t need to prove herself by putting herself into dangerous situations.
She could go to school full time, use her degree. Hell, she could play poker for a living or do volunteer work, whatever made her happy. They—Cade—could support any of those choices, financially and any other way she needed.
Grace returned.
She sat next to him. Opened the folder and spread some of the contents on the coffee table.
He got his first good look at Avery London. She was beautiful. Not unexpected.
Her various stopping places were highlighted in different colors across the reports. Apartment. Campus, multiple buildings. Beauty shop. Grocery store. Several other retail stores. A few fast food places. A couple of expensive boutiques in San Francisco.
“How long was this guy on the job?”
“A little over a month.”
Maybe the guy had quit because he’d been bored out of his skull and something more interesting had come along. Then again, steady, easy, low-risk income was the best kind. Why walk away from it?
“What kind of reputation does he have?”
“He’s good. Probably as frustrated as I am at not being able to openly investigate and approach Avery’s friends to ask about the boyfriend. That’s part of why Bulldog gave me the case. I’m still working on a degree. Different school but I can make contact in social settings and talk the talk.”
Fuck no. That was not happening.
“Any particular target?”
Grace pulled a picture of a twenty-something brunette from the folder. The woman was a looker, the clothing and bling warning she was an expensive keep. Same as Avery had looked in a shot taken of her leaving a high-end boutique, same as Grace could look if she wanted to fit into whatever crowd this woman and Avery ran with.
