by Jory Strong
She licked her lips and his gaze latched onto her mouth, making her heart beat in triple time. "I don't have any underthings in your colors."
His smile grew wickeder. "We'll have to correct that situation. But be warned, the next time you won't be able to escape the shop without giving me a preview before I hand over my coins."
Her chin lifted despite the erotic images his threat created. "I can pay for my own things."
He laughed. "Not a chance, mami. Do you care so little for my reputation?"
"As if you can do any wrong in the warren. You're warlord."
"Hmmm, and being warlord means my word is law and must be obeyed. Si?"
"Maybe."
He laughed. "Try again. Yes? Or no?"
Against the huskiness in his voice and the heat in his eyes, her heart was utterly defenseless. "Yes."
"My word is law and must be obeyed."
"Yes," she whispered, liquid pleasure rippling through her sex.
"Undo the bra, Ella. Show me what belongs to me."
Trembling, feeling she was about to go up in flames, she reached around and undid the clasp.
He hooked his finger beneath the rose at the center. Tugged the bra away from her breasts and downward to join the dress on the floor.
Firm, life-roughened hands reverently cupped her swollen flesh, caressed, his palms gliding over tight, aching nipples. And she moaned, arched into those firm hands, heated need streaking down to the place between her legs.
"Now the panties."
Her blush deepened but refusal wasn't a consideration, not when it came to Josiah.
My husband.
Her heart swelled at the way he was looking at her, as if she was everything he wanted. With hands that weren't completely steady, she pushed the panties off her hips, down her thighs, released them to fall to the tile floor.
"Beautiful," he said. "As well as talented."
Both compliments arrowed straight to her heart, were necessary to her heart.
Her hands went to the front of his shirt. Beneath her palm, his heart beat fast and strong.
Button by button she revealed his muscled chest, uncovered the scars that had been acquired on his way to becoming warlord. Old knife wounds mainly, though a bullet had grazed his side.
Several looked like injuries that'd come close to killing him. She stroked the scars with her fingertips and his breathing quickened. He moaned softly and took possession of her hand. "I am a man of only so much patience and you are testing it."
Glancing up at him through her lashes, she asked. "Is that such a terrible thing?"
Heat scorched the air. "It depends on how quickly you want to lose your innocence."
Additional arousal washed down her inner thighs and his nostrils flared. She pulled her hand from his, pushed the shirt off his shoulders so it joined her clothing on the floor.
She slid her palms along broad shoulders. He was so very masculine, so overwhelmingly male.
My husband.
He didn't stop her hands when they traveled downward over hard muscle and washboard abs, her own breathing quickening at the proximity to the fierce ridge at the front of his jeans.
Her pulse jumped beneath her jaw, matching the erratic beat in her chest as she undid his belt. "Do you usually wear the guns?"
"Away from the house I'm always armed, though not always with the long pistols."
His hands joined hers at the front of his jeans, guided them to the top button, the zipper, and she hurried to open them, to free him.
His cock emerged, full and thick, and even knowing what to expect, her breath caught.
Instinctively, she wrapped her hand around his shaft.
His cock spasmed against her palm. "Are you trying to be the death of me?" he asked, his voice seductively dark, his mouth covering hers and preventing her from answering.
Her tongue hurried to thrust against his. Her hand mimicked each rub of tongue against tongue with the up and down stroke of his cock.
He moaned and grasped her hair with one hand as the other pushed between her legs and found her wet sex.
She answered his moan with one of her own, widened her legs rather than attempt to block her husband's touch. It was so much better than the nights she'd lain awake in her small room and dared to touch herself.
Tingling streaks of pleasure shot down to her toes with the rub of his fingers over her clit, the press of them to her opening. With her free hand she gripped his shoulder, afraid she'd lose the ability to remain standing.
Her hips jerked. Her body was completely his to command.
He left her lips, kissed his way to her ear. "Let's take this into the bedroom, mami."
She released his cock and he shoved his jeans down. Stepped out of them and she stood locked in place, memorizing him, mesmerized by him.
He was dizzying. Breathtaking.
There were additional scars, a reminder that the warrens were a violent place. Only the strong survive here. And those protected by the strong, he'd told her, and he was that, strong, seemingly invincible.
"Dios, when you look at me like that…"
He pulled her against him and she shivered with the first press of her naked body against his. He was hard in all the places she was soft.
He was ready for her, his cock a hot, throbbing length against her stomach. And she was ready for him, wet and willing.
This time it was her mouth that covered his, her tongue that thrust, explored. Savored a reality beyond any fantasy.
His hands swept over her back, squeezed her buttocks before traveling upward. With him she felt feminine and delicate, not drab and awkward.
She captured his tongue, sucked, and his pelvis slammed into hers. He moaned, tore his mouth away. "Now I know you're plotting my end, mami."
He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Settled her onto the dark blue comforter gently but when he lay on her, his mouth retaking hers, there was nothing gentle in the kiss. It was scorching demand and she yielded to that demand, parted her thighs and pressed upward, rubbing her mound against his cock.
He reached between them and grasped his shaft, guided it to her entrance. She knew what to expect, braced herself for pain, but that brief flash of pain was no match to the pleasure at being made his wife in fact. She trembled, grasped his biceps, the muscles rigid beneath her palms as he worked himself into her an inch at a time, stretched her, filled her, swelled her heart with joy.
He stilled when he was all the way in, lifted his head to stare into her eyes. She blinked away sudden tears at the caring in his expression, speared her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth back to hers to prevent him from misunderstanding those tears.
His tongue forged into her mouth. His hips thrust, driving away thought and leaving only sensation.
Pleasure built and built and built—chasing something elusive. And then his arm slid beneath her, changing the angle of her body so each thrust became a strike to her clit. Each stroke sparked fireworks on the backs of her eyelids and bursts of pleasure in her sex.
Heat radiated in every direction. Burned hotter with each thrust until it became a sobbing, shuddering release. And that ecstasy was followed by deep, primal satisfaction when Josiah moaned and thrust harder, faster, finally filled her channel in hot spurts of semen.
She hugged him, her heart thundering, wide open to hope. She was his wife and they hadn't used protection.
Nine months from now there could be a child. Or twelve months, or a year—it didn't matter when it happened, only that one day it might.
He lay more heavily on her, in no hurry to pull from her body, and that fed her hope for the future. Opening her eyes, she looked into his and saw masculine satisfaction.
Sensuous lips curved upward at her perusal, bringing a different kind of pleasure, a different kind of confidence, goading her into saying, "You're still alive."
He laughed. "Barely. And no thanks to you."
She swept her hands over h
is muscled back. My husband.
Tears came. In that moment it seemed she had everything she could ever want.
Tell him, an inner voice prompted. Surely the truth of her parentage no longer mattered, not when for the majority of her life she'd believed she knew who her father was, not when she still considered the man who'd raised her to be her father, not when his name had been on her citizenship papers.
Josiah shifted his weight onto an elbow, cupped her face and brushed a tear away with his thumb. "Crying, mami?"
Tell him.
"You expected to marry my sister. When you didn't come home last night, I thought…"
"That I didn't want you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
His hips rocked forward, unnecessarily reminding her that their bodies were still joined. "I returned close to dawn."
"You didn't wake me."
"Did you want me to?"
She'd told herself that it was just as well he'd left her, that if he'd taken her, it would only have been sex. But that was a lie, at least for her. She'd wanted him, imagined herself in love with him—and those things were truer now, after having been with him. "Yes."
"I'll remember that," he said, claiming her lips, his tongue driving into her mouth, heated and possessive, though when he ended the kiss, his eyes held a hint of icy ruthlessness. "Be warned, mami. I am not a man who tolerates betrayal."
Her heart seized. Her confession froze in her throat. Would he consider her marrying him, knowing it should rightfully have been Victoria, a betrayal?
I'm still who I've always been, the apothecary's daughter.
She touched her lips to his, coaxed his mouth into opening with the swipe of her tongue. His hips thrust, he began hardening inside her.
Pounding on the door startled them both. The doorknob twisted, sending a blush into her cheeks.
Jacob said, "Mama! Papa! Rosa says come to dinner."
"We'll be down in minute," Josiah said.
The doorknob twisted again before they heard the sound of footsteps moving away from the bedroom. Josiah brushed his lips across hers. "Not only dinnertime, but in Rosa's view, probably time for at least one of us to take responsibility for the dog."
He slid from her body and then the bed, padded naked to the dresser. She admired skin that didn't change color, that remained warm brown across his shoulders and down his back, over tight buttocks and along muscled thighs and calves.
"I can feel the invitation in your eyes," he teased, aware of her gaze, or maybe he just knew he was irresistible.
Emboldened, she said, "Admiration I'll admit to. Not necessarily invitation."
He glanced over his shoulder and she felt his wickedly sensuous smile in her heart. "Already offering a challenge?"
"Should I be afraid to?"
"It depends, mami, on how brave you are."
She got off the bed. "I think I'll wear red to dinner."
"Diego's color?"
She moved to the end of the bed and opened the crate containing her clothing, not wanting to wear one of her new dresses for what was left of the day.
Josiah took a pair of jeans out of a dresser, tugged them on then padded to the closet. He removed a red shirt and put it on as he walked toward her. "Now you can wear red."
It was silly to tingle all over at wearing clothes that made it appear as if they belonged together, but she couldn't stop it any more than she could prevent the desire for his touch that came with the tingling.
His gaze took in the crates. "You haven't unpacked."
"I didn't want to go through your things."
"There's nothing in here that you can't see. Make room for your things."
Ella put on a dainty pair of white panties and a matching bra. Josiah rubbed his cheek against hers. "Signaling a truce? That's a smart move on your part."
She dug through the worn ugly dresses and pulled out a pair of jeans. Laborers wear pants, her mother would say, voice heavy with disapproval whenever she saw women not wearing dresses in the marketplace.
Victoria owned only dresses. Had never worn a pair of jeans. And though their mother didn't approve, Ella had purchased a pair for when she cleaned the workshop and the bird coops.
She tugged on the jeans. Put on a red blouse that hugged her figure and made her feel feminine in a way the majority of her dresses never did.
Josiah cupped her breasts, sending a shiver of heat to her sex and knotting her nipples. He nuzzled her ear. "Trying to hurry me back to bed?"
Her heart swelled, overflowing with hope. "Maybe."
He kissed her neck. Gave her a sucking bite. "The evening can't end quickly enough."
They went down to dinner. Enzo stood next to Jacob's chair.
"Watch this!" Jacob said, turning toward the dog. "Sit, Enzo."
The dog sat.
"Lie down."
The dog eased downward until his chest touched the rug.
Ella's heart warmed further at catching Makayla smiling at Jacob. And though the smile disappeared when she became aware of Ella watching her, Ella refused to allow her happiness to be diminished.
"See how smart he is?" Jacob said. "Was your Enzo as smart, Papa?"
"I don't know, mijo. I didn't think to teach him."
Dinner was seared pork chops stuffed with provolone cheese and served with cannellini beans.
After they'd eaten, Jacob said, "Can we play cards, Mama?" He cast a quick glance at Josiah. "All of us?"
Josiah nodded in agreement.
Ella braced herself for rejection and said, "Makayla?"
Before Josiah's sister could answer, Rosa said, "She'll be helping me in the kitchen."
Ella pushed away from the table. "I need to check on my patient before we start playing cards."
He was no worse, probably thanks to the drugs she'd taken from the stronghold. If he could just make it through the night. If he could just make it until Griffin arrived…
She joined Jacob and Josiah in the family room, the three of them playing cards until Jacob was visibly fighting to remain awake.
She didn't blame him. She didn't want the day to end either, except…
Her eyes met Josiah's and a flutter of anticipation went through her chest as an explosion-blast of heat detonated between her legs. "Bedtime," she told Jacob, blushing at the husk in her voice.
"Will you read me a story?"
"Yes. But first Enzo needs to go outside one last time."
Jacob took his dog out to use the bathroom. When they came back in, he said, "He did his business. I did mine too, so he'd remember where he was supposed to go."
She shook her head. Josiah laughed. "Boys will be boys."
Together they went upstairs to Jacob's bedroom. Within a few pages, both the boy and the dog curled at his feet were asleep.
Ella straightened Jacob's covers, quietly put the book in a dresser drawer, in case Enzo woke in the night and thought to chew. Josiah stood next to the bed, looking down at his son. When he glanced up, eyes that held a surprising tenderness became heated. He took her hand. "I'm ready to defy death again, mami."
"Maybe you'll be the death of me," she said, a chill sweeping in despite the desire she felt for her husband and her intention to tease.
"Maybe I will be."
* * * * *
Chapter 17
Morning came too soon. Though it came with a kiss, with the feel of Josiah's body against hers, the warm, welcome crush of his weight as he lay on top of her. Entered her, taking her with tenderness but leaving her craving him again before he'd even pulled his cock from her channel.
"I need to get to the stronghold. Stay out of trouble today, mami?"
She smiled against his mouth. "One dog is enough."
He kissed her slowly, thoroughly. Seemed every bit as reluctant to leave her as she was to see him go.
Tell him.
She silenced that voice, not wanting to risk the loss that heeding it might lead to.
Another kiss and he rolled a
way, taking his warmth with him.
He left the bed. Pulled on black jeans. Put on a white shirt then slid a gun into his waistband, looking every bit the warlord.
Returning to the bed, he took her mouth again, cupped her naked breast, his palm hot and rough against her tight nipple. He kissed her, kissed his way down her neck, sucked first one nipple and then the other, leaving them glistening when he stood, his eyes hooded.
"When will you be home?" she asked.
"When I can be."
He left and a part of her wanted to turn the bedsheets into a cocoon and lie there, reliving the intimacy, the miracle of what had happened between them. But duty and responsibility were too deeply engrained.
She took a quick shower, put on one of the dresses Josiah had bought for her. It was navy blue with a flared skirt and capped sleeves.
She went to the patient's room. Changed out the IV bag and dealt with the urine that flowed through tubing into a pan on the floor.
His breathing was shallower, with longer pauses between breaths. It was possible that he'd soon stop breathing altogether.
The elite had mechanical ventilators in their hospitals. Her father and Griffin had bag respirators, but they were only a temporary solution.
Pumping oxygen into someone's lungs only made sense where there was hope that manual compression or electrical shock or a drug shot into the heart would revive the patient.
Nessa entered the bedroom and leaned against the wall just inside the doorway. "Still alive?"
"Yes. Is there a bag respirator at the stronghold?"
"I don't know. What would it look like?"
"It would have a piece that would fit over a patient's mouth and nose. And that piece would be connected to a ball, something squeezable that would pump air from the other end of the ball into a person with enough force that it would reach their lungs."
"No. I've never seen anything like that. But someone at the stronghold could probably make one."
"It would be a good thing to have available." Though it wouldn't change the outcome, not for this patient.
