Claimed by Him (New Pleasures Book 1)

by M. S. Parker

“I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have,” I said. “You have to get up for work…” The rest of his words registered, and I blinked at him. “Lunch?”

  “It’s two in the afternoon,” he clarified. “Wednesday afternoon.”

  I stared at him. “I’ve been asleep for nearly twenty hours?”

  “More or less. You got up sometime around midnight to use the bathroom, but I’m not entirely sure you were really awake.”

  “How did I…?” I looked around, bewildered. “I kinda need you to fill me in here.”

  He held out his hand, and I took it, needing the physical touch as much as I needed him to ground me. As he led me back into the bedroom, and then into the hall, he said, “You were asleep before we got out of the hospital parking lot, and I didn’t want you to be alone, so I brought you back here. I behaved myself, I promise.”

  I didn’t ask who’d changed my clothes. There wasn’t anyone else here. It should have bothered me, that he’d taken off my shirt – and my bra, I realized – but it didn’t. It might bug me later, it might not, but at the moment, everything still had that vague numb feeling that things took on when they hadn’t entirely settled.

  “What about work?” I asked.

  “The thing about owning the company, I can work from home as much as I want to. And I was smart and hired a good enough group of people to take care of business that I don’t even need to do much of anything.”

  I followed him into the kitchen but pulled him to a stop before he could tell me to sit down. “You don’t have to do this.”

  He looked down at me, his expression serious, but his eyes light. “I know, but I want to.”

  “Why?”

  He kissed my forehead. “Because you need to let someone take care of you for once, and I’m taking the job.”

  “Don’t you mean you’re applying for the job?” I asked, hating the way my heart skipped at his words.

  “No,” he said easily as he released my hand. “Because that implies you have other possibilities, and I refuse to accept that.”

  His tone had a teasing note to it, but it didn’t fool me for a minute. Unless I wanted to specifically tell him that I didn’t want to be here, that I didn’t want him taking care of me, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  It surprised me how much I liked that idea.

  Twenty-Six

  A few flurries swirled through the chilled air, but the ground wasn’t quite cold enough for it to stick. The officiant Adare had selected asked if we wanted to move things inside, but I said no. Nothing short of a natural disaster would get me to deviate from the plans she’d made. I owed it to her to see things done right.

  As I took my place in the first row of chairs, I couldn’t help wondering if she’d have been pleased with the turnout. Her attorney had contacted her family like she’d wanted him to, but none of them were here. She’d told me that she hadn’t expected them to come, but in my mind, I’d thought she had to be wrong. Who would miss their own child’s funeral? Or their siblings’?

  There hadn’t been a service for my mom, not with things having happened the way they did. Anton had only been twenty-seven then, and without any other family, it had all been on him.

  It’d taken everything inside him just to deal with the aftermath of what happened as well as my injuries. He hadn’t had the heart or strength to arrange anything. Some people might have been upset by it, but we hadn’t stayed in Indiana long enough for me to find out. By the time I’d asked about the funeral, we’d been in Hell’s Kitchen, and I’d been relieved to hear that I hadn’t missed anything. He’d promised that if I ever wanted to do something, we would, but I’d known that a memorial would only bring back memories that were better off left where they were.

  There weren’t many people there, but Adare had wanted it that way. Over the years, she’d stayed friends with some of her past clients, and they were all here, but she hadn’t wanted an open service. As the news had gotten out, however, waves of cards and flowers had come into the office. She hadn’t been some big public figure or a wealthy supporter of various foundations, but she’d been genuine in who she was, and people had loved her.

  Jalen took the seat next to me, immediately reaching for my hand. I’d never thought of myself as someone who needed a lot of physical contact. I didn’t flinch away from it exactly, but it wasn’t something I’d found myself gravitating toward. Jalen did it automatically with me though, offering comfort that I didn’t even know I needed. Or, more accurately, that I didn’t want to acknowledge that I needed.

  “Adare Burkart was many things to many people.” Tall and rail-thin, the officiant didn’t look like he had enough strength in his wiry frame to produce such a deep bass voice. “I was blessed to be among those who called her a friend. When my late wife, Cecily, came home from Christmas shopping with a story about a woman who’d chased off a potential mugger, I knew I had to meet the fierce woman Cece had described.”

  Each person here had a story like that, I realized. None of them had known Adare as a child or a teenager. They’d all met her in one crazy way or another. People from every walk of life imaginable, all brought together by a single person.

  She’d come to Fort Collins as a college student, which made the elderly criminal justice professor from Colorado State University the person here who’d known her the longest. I’d heard that story already. How a stubborn sophomore had wanted in his class so badly that she’d camped out in front of his classroom for an entire week before the semester had started.

  The middle-aged redhead a few seats to my left had been the victim of a car-jacking twenty-three years ago. After Adare had found the car and given the police information that had led to the jacker’s arrest, she’d asked Laura Briggs out on a date, and they’d stayed together for five years. When they’d ended their romantic relationship, they’d remained good enough friends for Adare to want her here.

  Behind me was a family of three who’d been smuggled into the country by a coyote who’d then held the youngest brother hostage in order to force the other two to work as drug mules.

  To their left was a couple who’d just celebrated their thirty-ninth wedding anniversary because Adare had gotten to the bottom of false infidelity rumors being spread by a business rival.

  Sitting here now, I could see more clearly than ever the gift Adare had given me when she’d left Burkart Investigations to me. It wasn’t simply a way to earn a living, a legacy in success. It was a way to build a family of my own choosing. A way to make a difference in people’s lives that I wouldn’t have been able to do even as an FBI agent. Not every ‘bad guy’ was going to cross the agency’s radar. Not every case would deal with breaking the law.

  And, sometimes, I might need to be the one doing the law-breaking.

  When the words were all said, it was time for me to do my final job today. I stood, and Jalen stood with me. His hand on the small of my back reminded me that I had more than one reason to thank Adare. I smiled as I stooped to pick up a handful of dirt.

  “I get it,” I said quietly. “I get it now, and I promise, I’ll do you proud.”

  One by one, each of the people whose lives she’d touched came forward to say their goodbyes. There’d be no mingling afterward. Adare’s orders. Once it was done, it was done, and we were supposed to go live our lives.

  A life that was a little poorer for her not being in it, but a life she’d believed in more than I’d realized before now.

  This time, I took Jalen’s hand and led the way back to his car, neither of us looking back.

  Twenty-Seven

  “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I said as Jalen walked me up to my door. Technically, the apartment above the office was mine now, but I couldn’t bring myself to go inside yet. I’d get there, but not tonight. “If you’re okay with that.”

  He followed me inside, tugging me to a stop even as he pushed the door closed behind us. He wrapped his arms around me, and I settled against his chest wit
h a sigh.

  “I’ll stay with you as long as you want,” he said. He kissed the top of my head and held me for a minute longer before letting me go. “Why don’t you go sit down? Are you hungry? I’ll get you something to eat.”

  As he walked toward the kitchen, something low in me clenched. I was hungry, but not for food. I needed something more. Intellectually, I knew that sex after a loss was natural, a whole affirmation of life thing, but I’d never really experienced it before now.

  “I don’t want to sit down,” I said, “and I don’t want food.”

  He turned around, a puzzled expression on his face. “Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “Just thinking about what I really do want.”

  “What’s that?”

  My heart thudded against my ribcage, but I wasn’t going to chicken out. I’d never done this before, but if I could do it with anyone, it was him.

  His gaze followed my hands as I reached down and pulled my shirt over my head. He breathed out a curse, but I could barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. I reached behind me, numb fingers fumbling with the hooks in my bra. As it dropped to the floor, my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. A part of me couldn’t believe I was actually doing this, but another part of me was glad I finally had the guts to do it.

  He came toward me slowly, but I didn’t see any disgust or revulsion on his face. If anything, he wore an expression that looked an awful lot like awe.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  For a moment, I thought he was commenting on the scar, and that would’ve still been better than anything I ever would have thought anyone would ever say about it. Then his fingers lightly traced across the tops of my breasts, and I realized what was actually holding his attention.

  I flushed, heat flooding across my skin even as my nipples tightened into two hard little points. I’d touched myself, but it wasn’t the same. I’d had men touch my breasts before, too, but always over clothes, and always worrying about whether or not they’d seen or touched my scar. But Jalen, he’d already seen it. And he didn’t care about it. All he cared about was paying attention to my body.

  I moaned as his fingers tweaked and rolled the sensitive flesh. Definitely not the same as touching myself. Fuck. I closed my eyes, and my head fell back. I’d never imagined that I was missing this much by limiting how someone could touch me, but this…

  His tongue circled my breast, and my eyes snapped open. I grabbed the back of his head as he wrapped an arm around my waist. He held me steady, tracing wet patterns across my skin, then blowing cool air. My skin prickled, goosebumps spreading despite the heat coursing through me.

  The hand on my back moved up my spine, then back down to the top of my ass. I was vaguely aware that he was touching the end of my scar, but he didn’t say anything, and neither did I. He shoved his knee between my legs, using it to help keep me steady. When his lips closed around one throbbing nipple, I understood why.

  With a hard pull of his mouth, he sent electricity straight from my nipple to clit, igniting everything between. I cursed, my body shifting without thought, the movement pushing his thigh up against me. I shivered at the pleasant friction, rocking my hips against him for more. He chuckled, the vibration against my nipple my new favorite sensation.

  Until his teeth got involved.

  The hand on my back guided my movements as I rubbed on him, and his teeth worried at my nipple, the combination exactly what I needed. I’d been wound tight for what seemed like years, pressure bubbling just below the surface.

  “Come for me,” Jalen said. He bit down, tugged, released. “Come for me, and I’ll take you to bed.”

  My pussy clenched at his words. I wanted that. Damn, I wanted it. Wanted him. Inside me.

  “Come, Rona.” His voice had an edge to it. “I’m so fucking hard right now. I need you to come, and then I can fuck you.”

  Most men would’ve assumed I wanted to be comforted with something soft and sweet. Made love to. Not fucked. But he knew me well enough to know that what I needed right now, what would actually comfort me, was fucking.

  He shoved his hand under the back of my skirt, palming my ass, squeezing it. “Don’t think about it. Do it.”

  He moved his mouth to the side of my breast and bit down – hard – and worried at the skin, sucked on it. Marked it. He pushed his leg more firmly against my core, and I whimpered.

  “J…” I panted. “J…J…”

  And there it was.

  “Yes!” I cried out as I rode his leg, taking myself up and over the edge. I fell forward, trusting him to catch me, and he did. He held me there, helping me eke out every drop of pleasure until I finally went limp in his arms.

  He straightened, scooping me up in his arms as he went. I almost protested that I wasn’t the best size to be carried, but then I remembered that he’d done it before. I half-expected him to toss me onto the bed, but he set me down gently instead, sliding off my skirt and panties as he went.

  “You soaked clean through these.” He grinned down at me as he deposited my clothes in the nearby hamper. After taking off his shirt, he moved on to his pants. “Damn, babe. My pants are wet too.”

  I shrugged, enjoying the way his eyes dropped to my breasts when I moved. “You told me to come.”

  He nodded. “I did.” He glanced behind him at a red silk scarf hanging over the edge of a chair, then looked down at me. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” The answer came before I was even aware of what it would be.

  I watched as he walked over to my scarf, and the sight of all those muscles bunching and flexing sent a rush of arousal through me, sharp and sweet. His face was gorgeous enough, but that body…damn.

  When he turned back around, scarf in hand, I felt silly for not having realized already what he wanted to do.

  He leaned over me, his eyes locking with mine until the scarf hid him from sight. A shiver of anticipation, tinged with fear of the unknown, went down my spine. Not seeing him at all when he could see all of me took a lot more trust than I’d realized.

  The bed dipped under me as he moved. “Spread your legs and put your arms above your head.”

  I stretched my arms up, my fingertips brushing against my pillows. No matter where things went between the two of us, tonight would always be special to me. He was giving me something no one had ever been able to give me before, not even Clay.

  “No thinking, no analyzing. Just feel.”

  He grasped my ankle, slid his hand up my leg. I could feel his gaze on me as he hooked one leg over his hip, hitching it up high and opening me to him even more fully. He paused a moment, then surged forward, burying himself inside me with one thrust.

  My back arched, mouth opening. He groaned, a wordless sound wrung out of him. We froze like that for several beats, locked together in an intimate embrace. Then, when I couldn’t bear it a second longer, he rotated his hips, rocked back and forth, as if he was gauging my responses.

  When I pushed up against him, he leaned closer, my thigh muscles burning as my knee pressed closer to my chest. He drove into me with single-minded purpose, each stroke taking me to my limit. The words we said didn’t make much sense, a jumble of curses and endearments and compliments, each one’s sole purpose to express how much we were enjoying the feel of our bodies coming together, the sensations of skin on skin – complete for the first time.

  I could have lied to myself that the only reason this felt so much different from other times I’d fucked was because I wasn’t constantly aware of my scar or because I wasn’t wearing a shirt, or even because of the blindfold, but I knew better. I knew it was because of Jalen, because of the trust between us, the connection we had. And when we came, him first and me seconds later, that connection only grew stronger.

  Twenty-Eight

  “It’s okay,” I said softly as I turned my head to look up at Jalen. The hair on his chest scratched my cheek, but I couldn’t find it in me to mind. I was more content he
re than I’d ever been with another person.

  “What’s okay?” he asked as he brushed some hair back from my forehead.

  I rolled back a bit, exposing as much of the scar as possible. “Touch. Ask. Satisfy your curiosity.”

  “I don’t need to know,” he said, “not if you don’t want to tell me.”

  He meant it, and that assured me I could do it. That I needed to do it.

  I picked up the hand on his stomach and placed it between my breasts. That was all the encouragement he needed. He traced the scar with his fingers, followed the rough edges down and around to my spine.

  “Who hurt you?” The anger in the question meant as much to me as the question itself. Not what happened but who hurt you.

  “I grew up in Carmel, Indiana,” I began, returning to my place against his side. I traced patterns on his skin as I told my story. “The court transcripts were sealed, so not many people outside of that town know what I’m going to tell you, and even there, not all the details got out.”

  He ran his hand up and down my arm but didn’t interrupt.

  “I was an only child with a normal childhood, up until I was twelve anyway. My dad had an accident at work, and it messed with his brain. He changed from my funny, hard-working father into someone who flew off the handle at the slightest thing. He was scary, but my mom and I, we still loved him.”

  His stomach muscles tensed under my hand, as if he guessed how bad the next bit was going to be. I doubted his guesses had even gotten close to what I was about to tell him.

  “About a year after it happened, I was in my room, putting away clothes, and they started yelling. They’d been yelling a lot since he’d gotten hurt. I didn’t realize anything was really wrong until something crashed.” I swallowed hard. I needed to talk about it the same way I had on the stand. “My mom screamed. I went downstairs, and there was blood everywhere. My mom was dead. No question or doubt. Before I could really even process it, my dad grabbed me, threw me up against the wall. He had this knife from our kitchen, and it was covered with blood.”