Mark (The Mallick Brothers #3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "You couldn't have gotten that much."

  "Just shy of five thousand that first time. But to us, that was a lot."

  "What then?"

  "Then we drove out of town. We had already packed up and pooled our money. We picked another target and started working there. Shower, rinse, repeat. Ten years. Still haven't earned it all back. Some hits were much smaller than anticipated. But we're close."

  "Then what?"

  "Then get the hell out of here before anything does eventually trace back to us. I mean, we're careful. Fake IDs all the way, and all my brothers wear prosthetic noses or fake tattoos or fake scars during robberies, just enough to throw off anything seeming too similar. Some times, we will only have one of us go in. Sometimes I am the one doing the yelling and gun-toting. We try to keep it fresh."

  "Get out of here where?"

  "We're leaning toward China or Russia."

  "No extradition."

  That wasn't something normal people knew.

  Somehow, I found it comforting that he did.

  It made me feel less like a freak for knowing it as well.

  "Exactly."

  "So this is all you've known since your mom passed? The road, the planning, being unsettled."

  I took a deep breath, holding it until it burned, then letting it out slowly. "Pretty much."

  And it had never seemed quite as pathetic as it did right then.

  I expected more questions, more seriousness, more sad looks.

  But I guess when it came to Mark Mallick, you couldn't really predict what you were going to get.

  Because the next thing out of his mouth was, "So are you cooking those damn things, or am I eating them raw? Not that I won't, mind you, but think they'd be a lot better cooked."

  Then, like nothing at all happened, like my insides didn't fall out raw and wet all over the floor, we both started cooking. And it wasn't weird or awkward. The silence didn't feel uncomfortable. It just felt like a normal couple doing something they did every night.

  Except we weren't normal.

  We weren't a couple.

  And we would likely never do it again.

  That last one, yeah, it brought with it a sadness that was way too intense.

  "Alright," he said abruptly, making me start. My eyes drifted up to find him standing there with a plate of uncooked steak in one hand and metal tongs in the other. "I have to go do the manly grilling thing. Feel free to ogle me through the back window."

  I laughed at that, finding it came easily with him. "Or I could set the table."

  "Well, that's not nearly as fun," he said, shrugging, then disappearing out the back door.

  I did set the table.

  But I totally ogled him as well.

  He even caught me doing it, sending me a saucy smile in return.

  "Why are we eating so early?" I asked as I caught the time above the oven as I slipped the desserts in.

  "You want the PC answer, or the honest one?"

  My head swiveled over my shoulder, smile pulling at my lips. "The honest one."

  "I want you good and fed so I can fuck you for the next six hours."

  Well then.

  That answered that, didn't it.

  "With a short break for apple flowers," he amended, reaching for my fingers and giving them a little squeeze. "Come on, let's eat."

  Then we ate.

  And I pretended I wasn't pressing my thighs together to calm the desire pulsating there as we talked about little things- the places I had been, what movies we liked, music, his jobs, his nieces who sounded like adorable hellions, his brother's new puppy, his history as a... cheerleader?

  "Whoa whoa whoa," I said, practically trying to choke down a half-chewed piece of meat I was in such a rush to speak. "No way. You can't just say you were a cheerleader and try to breeze right by it. Explain yourself."

  He smiled, reaching for a beer he had been nursing since we sat down. "My Ma forced us all into after school activities. All our lives. Trying, I think, to keep us out of trouble. Fat lot of good that did us. But anyway, in high school, all I gave a fuck about was what girl I could chase next. Having to spend countless hours a week on the football or baseball field would seriously cramp my style."

  "So what better to do than marry obligation and your one true passion?"

  "Exactly," he agreed, grinning, making his eyes crinkle up charmingly. "Got to spend all practice picking up, throwing around, catching, and carrying the most gorgeous women in school. It was a good workout."

  "And it got you a lot of tail."

  "That it did," he agreed, leaning back in his chair, watching me.

  "What did you want to be when you were in high school, baby?"

  "Mostly... out of high school. Other than that, I didn't ever really have that thing some people have, you know? That dream or passion. I figured I would graduate, find some certificate-type program, and just get some normal job. Now, fuck if I know what I'm qualified for."

  "Private security work," he offered immediately, like he maybe had even given it some thought. "You and your brothers. You'd know exactly what weak spots criminals would look for."

  "Because we are criminals," I supplied, not angry or offended, but also mildly uncomfortable with him seeing me that way. Why? I wasn't sure, because that was exactly what I was.

  "Because it's in your wheelhouse. It's your skill set. It's what you know."

  Mood a little bit less enthusiastic than a moment before, I got to my feet, reaching for both our plates. "Well, I'll have to see if China or Russia has any job opportunities in that field," I said as I moved toward the sink, running the water and reaching for the soap.

  I had barely gotten the sponge sudsed up when I saw his hands plant wide to the sides of the sink and felt his front press into my back, his head resting on my shoulder.

  "What button did I press?"

  "What?" I asked, feigning innocence when we both knew I damn sure knew what he was talking about.

  "Pressed a button. Don't know which one it is, and I want to, so I don't go pressing it again."

  "It's not a big deal."

  "Two minutes ago, you were looking at me like you wanted me to toss you up on the table and eat you for dessert." He wasn't wrong, and the fact that he read that on me made a little shiver of anticipation course through me. "Now you don't even want to look at me. So I'm thinking it's a pretty big fucking deal." His hands slid across the countertop and landed at my hips, pausing before folding across my belly and giving me a squeeze. "What'd I do?"

  "You didn't do anything. It's just... it's stupid."

  "Yeah, it might be," he agreed, making me laugh despite my mood. Had to appreciate a man who didn't sugarcoat everything. "Still want to hear it."

  I sucked in a deep breath, looking down at my soapy hands, feeling uncomfortable. "I don't like that you think of me as some lowly criminal."

  There was a short pause. "I don't remember saying anything even the least bit similar to that." That was true enough actually. I had just been twisting his words to further support my insecurity. How pathetic was that? "I'm not judging you, Scotti. Especially now that I know why you guys do it. I beat people and I don't have anything like your excuse. Do you think of me as some lowly criminal?"

  "No."

  "Then you see how you're being a little silly, right?"

  "Silly?" I repeated, smiling despite myself. What kind of grown man used the word 'silly?'

  "Batshit crazy more your speed?" he asked as he turned his face into my neck to plant a sweet kiss beneath my ear.

  "Yeah, that sounds more like me," I agreed, leaning back into him slightly.

  Could the fucking part of the evening commence?

  Now that I got my head out of my own ass, I realized how good it felt to have his strong body behind mine, his arms holding me tight.

  "Dishes can wait, yeah?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I agreed, dropping the sponge and letting the water rinse my fingers as he reached t
o shut off the tap.

  One second, I was leaned against his chest, the next, I was spun around so quickly that my stomach pitched and I let out a quiet gasp before I felt myself pressed back against the island. His hands sank into my hips and yanked upward, lifting me completely off my feet to settle me on top of said island as he lowered himself down on his knees.

  At my confused look, he shrugged. "Got a feeling these damn shoes are going to get in the way of getting these jeans off you," he explained as he reached for the laces. He pulled off one, then went to the other.

  Once my black sock-clad feet were freed, his finger moved out to trace up my arch which, for a normal woman, might have been mildly - or wildly - erotic, for me, it was freaking torture. Because me, yeah, I was ridiculously ticklish in weird places like my feet and my ribs. So there was no holding in the squealing laugh I let out as my entire body jolted, making Mark's gaze rise to mine, everything in it making my eyes go huge. Because I knew that look. It was the same one my brothers got when they realized for the first time they could use that against me in a fight. "No fucking way," he said, white teeth flashing all over.

  "Don't," I demanded, trapped, completely unable to escape.

  "Don't what? Don't do... this?" he asked, grabbing my ankle, yanking it upward as he stood, and going HAM at my arch. Until I was choking for breath as I uselessly swatted at his hands, until I was flat on my back, begging for him to stop.

  But then he dropped my ankle, and his hands sank into my knees, pushing them open, moving between, and curling down over me.

  "You suck," I declared, trying to catch my breath as he smiled down at me.

  "Mhmm," he agreed on a rumble as he leaned in and pressed his lips into my throat, effectively wiping my mind completely blank in a blink. "Think I can change your mind on that stance," he declared as his tongue slid out to slide down the column of my throat. "What do you think?"

  Think?

  I wasn't sure I was capable of thought right there. At least not any that didn't involve the chaos coursing through me at his touch.

  "Guess I'll have to show you," he mused, lifting up slightly then reaching for the hem of my shirt and yanking it up in one quick motion, discarding it down on the floor where his was laying forgotten somewhere.

  His fingers landed near my ribs, his fingertips brushing the edge of my bra, as he curled downward to plant a kiss just below my navel, turning my belly liquid in the process. Then he was oh-so-slowly moving upward, making the muscles of my stomach quiver beneath the attention, making my heart start to race and my pulse start to pound in unusual places- my wrists, my temples, my throat, between my legs where my desire was making my panties stick to my skin with need.

  His tongue traced beneath the line of my bra, making me arch up off the countertop, letting his fingers slip beneath to work the clasp. His hand moved between us, freeing my breasts of the material, then discarding it as well. One of his hands moved up to cup just under one of the swells almost reverently for a long second before it closed over it, and squeezed, while his mouth sucked my other nipple inside, working over it with excruciating circles. A low, pained whimper ripped its way from somewhere deep inside me, the sound desperate and pleading. He lifted, shifted, and took possession of my other nipple until the pressure on my lower belly became acutely painful, the need between my thighs downright intolerable, and I sank my hands into his hair, yanking hard until he lifted and sealed his lips over mine.

  My greedy hands moved around his back, digging into the strong muscles of his shoulders. My legs lifted, closing around him, crossing over his lower back.

  Then, unable to stop myself, too overcome with a need for release, my hips rose up to his, ground up into him, demanded fulfillment, showed him how much I needed him to make it up to me.

  And while he would allow the grinding, even sinking down into me so his hard cock could press me right where I needed him, that was all he would give me as his teeth snagged my lower lip, biting. When a moan rushed out of me, his tongue moved forward to stroke over mine, to torment me even further.

  Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to take it anymore, his hands slipped under my arched back, folding across, holding me tight as he straightened, pulling me with him as he stood up straight with me wrapped around him. One of his arms stayed across the middle of my back, the other drifted downward and sank into my ass, holding me to him as he started walking through the kitchen, then the living room.

  My lips ripped from his, wanting to drive him even half as crazy as I was in that moment, as my lips, tongue, and teeth tormented his neck as he took the stairs to the second floor.

  I couldn't tell you what the hallway looked like, where his master bedroom was located, what the flooring was, if there was an en suite. All I knew was his skin smelled like a hint of body wash and grill smoke, and his bare skin felt as overheated as my own did, and his breathing wasn't quite as controlled as I had thought, indicating his own tight grip on his control.

  But I didn't want him in control.

  I wanted him just as wild, as frantic, as desperate as I was.

  So the second I felt my ass hit the bed, I released my hold of him and pushed off the bed, going down on my knees before him as I reached up for the waistband of his jeans. I freed him and reached to snag both his jeans and boxer briefs, my head tilting up to find him watching me, intense, heavy-lidded. And that, that need, that was all I needed as his pants fell, as his hard cock finally came into view. My hand moved up to stroke down the velvety soft, rigid length, stopping at the base as I leaned inward, teasingly moving my tongue over the head, watching his eyes. My sex tightened at the sound of his breath hissing out from between his lips, urging me on.

  I sucked him in deep, hearing a ragged curse as I took him almost to the base, forcing my gag reflex to subside as my other hand moved out to gently stroke over his balls as I started working him in fast, unyielding strokes with both my hand and my mouth, using a twisting motion on each stroke inward.

  There was a sharp, aching sensation in my scalp as his hand moved in and grabbed hard. His other hand went to my shoulder, crushing in hard enough to leave marks. Every bit of that intensity drove me faster, had me making wanton moaning noises as I sucked him, as I gave him even part of the need for release that I felt clawing deep in my belly.

  "Fuck, baby," he growled, yanking hard on my hair to make me stop. There was a low, unhappy whimpering sound as his cock slid out of my mouth, finding perhaps for the first time ever how badly I wanted to give pleasure, maybe even more than I wanted to find any of my own. And he was taking that chance away from me. "You can have my cock anytime you want it, Scotti," he told me, his hand releasing my hair to run a finger across my jaw. "But it seems I missed out on dessert. And, well, I'm pretty fucking hungry still."

  With that and nothing else, he pulled me up onto my feet as he himself lowered down, unbuttoning my pants then shimmying them and my panties down my ass and hips and thighs, making me for the first time curse my beloved skinny jeans and how they clung lovingly to every admittedly understated curve that I possessed. I stumbled awkwardly as he worked to free my feet, making my hands slam down on his shoulders to steady myself for a long moment before he reached up to press me back onto the bed.

  He didn't waste time on my breasts or belly again.

  He didn't want to tease me any further.

  He spread my thighs, holding them firmly against the bed, and he fucking feasted on me. His tongue slid up my slick cleft, claiming my clit for a short second before his lips sucked it inward, using a pulsating suction on it that had me wondering if it was possible to come that quickly. Then, just as the pleasure started to border on pain, he released me, his tongue moving a path back downward to curl and then thrust inside me as his eyes angled up to look at me.

  "Oh my god. Oh my... oh..." I cried out as he moved back up to suck my clit as his finger thrust inward and curled, raking over my G-spot, and sending a blindingly intense orgasm coursing through
my body. He made a low, growling noise as he kept working me, dragging it out, milking it for all it was worth.

  I had barely come back down when I felt his hands crush into my sides, lifting, and throwing me halfway up the bed as he climbed up himself, sitting back on his ankles as he reached for a condom and made short work of protecting us.

  He stared down at me long enough for me to slowly curl upward, half climbing up onto his lap, feeling his cock press promisingly into my belly, as my arms went around the back of his neck. "Fuck me," I demanded as he just kept staring at me. "Mark..." I whimpered, reaching between us, grabbing his cock, and moving it toward where I needed him, then sinking my hips down on him, feeling him press inside, stretching me, making me his. "Please," I demanded on a moan as he settled deep.

  His hand went behind my back, leaning me backward far enough for me to need to brace myself with my arms behind me, my hips still up on his lap. His other hand moved to my hip, sinking in hard, using it to guide me as he started thrusting, slowly for a second, then quicker, completely beyond any restraint. Feeling similarly, I thrust down toward him as he thrust upward into me, taking him deep, helping us both get closer to oblivion.

  My whimpers became moans that were loud even to my own ears as my arms started shaking beneath me from the awkward position and pressure. His arm around my lower back tightened, yanking me roughly up toward him, then throwing me back down flat, never once losing contact. His hands slid under my back to grab into my shoulders from behind, holding me completely in place as he fucked me harder, faster, until my moans became something akin to cries, the tightening deep inside promising an orgasm that put all before it to shame.

  "That's it," Mark growled, watching me. "Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my fucking cock, baby."