Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

  Tabby gives me a hug before we leave. Ryan and Connor hug, too, thumping each other on the back so hard, I’m sure there will be bruises.

  As we walk out the door, I say, “Wait! You haven’t shown me the diamond!”

  Ryan only smiles. “I never said it was here, darlin’.”

  I spend the ride back to Ryan’s in even deeper thought than I spent on the ride over. Thinking of what’s ahead of us, of all the possible things that could go wrong, my brain is scrambled eggs. I keep a calm demeanor, though, and keep my hand in Ryan’s loose and light so he doesn’t guess what I’m going through and change his mind about allowing me to take part in what’s by far the most dangerous job I’ve ever attempted.

  If I fail, Reynard dies. If I fail, I die. If Capo discovers Ryan’s part in the plan, Ryan dies. So do Connor, Tabby, anyone associated with Metrix…basically everyone I’ve been in contact with, including people I haven’t been in contact with yet, but will, like the FBI agents I’ll meet before we go. Hell, the boys from the Smithsonian might even be in danger.

  Basically, the plan should be called If Anything Goes Wrong, Everyone Dies.

  Ryan says firmly, “I promise it’s gonna work out.”

  I should’ve known he’d guess what I’m feeling. The man’s intuition is almost female. “This telepathy of yours is spooky. Have you ever considered a job in the field of psychic readings? You’d make a fortune.”

  “Nah,” he says, sending me a wink from the driver’s seat. “I can’t see the future. Only what’s right in front of my face.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it.

  “That’s because your teeth have an unearthly glow. You could find your way through a haunted forest just by smiling.”

  “Your jealousy of my dental perfection is flatterin’, darlin’, but considering you have beautiful teeth, it’s also a little weird.”

  My teeth were crooked as fishhooks until I was fifteen and Reynard paid for my braces, but I keep that to myself. I’m suffering a serious bout of superstition that saying his name aloud will cause something bad to happen. Instead, I say, “Not as weird as the way you drive. You are aware that we’re not currently engaged in a high-speed pursuit with the police, right?”

  “Excuse me, woman, but I’m an excellent driver. Example.”

  He swerves hard to avoid a squirrel that has darted into the road, then cuts back into his lane just as quickly, saving the squirrel but leaving a swath of squealing tires in his wake from other drivers slamming on their brakes to avoid colliding with us.

  “Hmm,” I say, my heart thumping. “Seeing as how your example was accompanied by a chorus of horns and what is probably a nasty case of whiplash on my part, I reject it out of hand.” A black BMW speeds by us in the next lane. “Oh, and that guy wants you to know you’re number one. Boy, does he have a long middle finger.”

  “What does he know? He’s driving a Beemer!” Ryan scoffs. “Douche.”

  I sense this is some vestigial prejudice from his fraternity days and decide silence is the most intelligent reply.

  “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re a fan of German cars.”

  He’s looking at me in dread, like I might be about to sprout horns. Despite my better judgment, I decide to engage in this ridiculous line of conversation.

  At least it will keep my mind off how difficult it’s going to be to meet Capo with a blank, innocent face.

  “I’m guessing by your tone and expression of horror that that would be a terrifying development in our relationship?”

  “Nothing is terrifying to me,” he says with utter disdain. “I’m a Marine.”

  “You were a Marine,” I point out with what I consider solid logic.

  He makes a face like I’ve just said his mother is ugly and he has a small dick. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, woman! Semper fi!”

  I sigh. “Great. I’ve awakened the Macho Kraken.”

  “You know you get that face you have right now from Reynard, right?”

  When I look at him with one eyebrow cocked, he says, “Yeah. That face. That ‘How’ve you managed to live to this age with your gnat-size IQ?’ face. That ‘How did you get here, did someone leave your cage open?’ face. That ‘You must have a terribly empty feeling inside your skull’ face!”

  I can’t help myself. I clutch my stomach and dissolve into laughter.

  “Good,” he says, sounding satisfied. “Laughter is better than worry lines. Trust me, darlin’, it’s all gonna work out.”

  This is when I realize the entire back-and-forth was a ploy—a very effective ploy—to make me feel better and put my mind at ease.

  He doesn’t give a shit about German cars one way or another. He just gives a shit about me.

  My laughter abruptly ends, and I’m fighting tears.

  I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him.

  I’m a thief. A professional criminal. An outlaw and a miscreant, down to the marrow of my bones. I take things from people, things that don’t belong to me, cherished things that hold meaning to their owners. I lie and cheat and steal, I have since I was a small child, and I don’t deserve anything even close to the goodness of this man, the hugeness of his heart, the promise of a better tomorrow that shines in every one of his beautiful smiles.

  “We’re creatures of the underworld, my darling. We have no business in the dealings of heroes.”

  Reynard’s words echo in my head like a bitter winter wind. I suck in a breath and stare out the passenger window, my vision blurred by all the water in my eyes.

  “Ah, darlin’,” Ryan sighs, squeezing my hand. “It’s not what you’re forced to do to survive that shows your character. It’s what you do when no one’s looking. Perfect example? You puttin’ that pillow under my head after you roofied me. That was fuckin’ sweet, Angel.”

  I start to laugh again. How could I not?

  “Better,” he says, pulling me closer. “C’mere and snuggle up. You need some body contact.”

  No, cowboy. I just need you.

  When I sigh into his neck as I fit myself against his body, Ryan squeezes me tight.

  I hope he’s strong enough to hold on for the both of us, because I think we’re in for one hell of a roller coaster ride.

  24

  Mariana

  “God,” I groan. “You’re carrying me again! I’m not an invalid!”

  Ryan, holding me in his arms as we descend in the elevator, kisses my temple. “I’m a man, you’re a woman,” he explains, apropos of nothing.

  “I don’t understand your logic.”

  “That’s ’cause your primary hormone is estrogen.”

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No need for you to walk when you’ve got a man around who wants to carry you.”

  The elevator doors open, and we enter the house. Ryan calls out the cue for the lights and they flicker on. Then he turns and heads toward the bedroom.

  “Keep this up and my legs will atrophy,” I say. “Wait. Are you just using me as a workout for your biceps?”

  He doesn’t answer, but his smile is highly suspicious.

  “Fine. Moving on. Where’s the diamond?”

  “You’re obsessed with that fuckin’ thing, you know that?” he grumbles, but spins around and heads back to the kitchen. In front of the refrigerator, he sets me on my feet.

  He takes out a carton of milk and puts it on the table, then gives me a meaningful look.

  “Do you think I’m deficient in calcium?”

  His eye roll is extravagant. He picks up the carton and shakes it back and forth.

  When it rattles, I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “No! You didn’t! In there?”

  “Why not? It’s not gonna spoil. And who’s gonna think to look in the fridge for a big ol’ blue diamond? Anybody tries to hit this place—they’d totally fail, by the way, not even a spider’s gettin’ in here—they’d be lookin’ for a safe. Which I do have, but I only keep crypto phones in it. You wann
a see it?”

  He rattles the carton again. Speechless, I nod.

  He turns to the cabinet, retrieves a drinking glass, and sets it on the table, then pours milk into the glass until a big chunk of something falls out with a plop, spraying milk on the tabletop.

  He fishes the diamond from the glass with his fingers and holds it up. Even dripping milk, it burns with an eerie gray-blue brilliance.

  He offers it to me. I take it without a word and simply stare at it glittering in the palm of my hand. I think of an heiress who died broke and a king who lost his head, and am filled with trepidation.

  After a moment, I find my voice. “Do you also have the crown jewels in the vegetable drawer?”

  “Freezer,” he answers without hesitation. “Wrapped up in white butcher’s paper marked pork roast.”

  It’s disturbing that I actually believe him.

  He holds out his hand. I give him the diamond back, watching in silence as he casually drops it back into the milk carton, then pours the glass of milk in over it. He folds the top of the carton closed, sticks it back into the fridge, rinses his hands and the glass in the sink, then turns around and looks at me.

  “What?” he asks when he sees my face.

  “That stone is worth more than two hundred million dollars. And you’re keeping it in a nonfat milk carton in your refrigerator.”

  “It’s just a pretty rock, darlin’. It’s only worth what people believe it’s worth. For me, it’s just a means to an end.”

  “What end?”

  He walks slowly toward me, then takes my face in his hands. “The end of you havin’ to work for a monster. The end of you tyin’ sheets together and disappearin’ after a night with me. The end of anything that doesn’t make you happy or keep that beautiful smile on your face.”

  He kisses me softly, cradling my head. It’s deep and slow and achingly sweet, the kind of kiss that could make you fall in love.

  I pull away with a little gasp.

  “Don’t run away,” he says, his voice soft and earnest. “Promise me you won’t ever run away from me again.”

  My heart thrums like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings inside the cage of my chest. “You know they say promises are made to be broken. Let’s not tempt fate.”

  He finds my mouth again, takes it like he owns it, like all of me belongs to him and always will. I curl my hands into his shirt, taking fistfuls of it as he eats me with kisses.

  “I don’t want you to do this,” he says roughly, breaking away only long enough to speak those words, then kissing me again, hungrier this time, his hands around my head tighter. “This shit with Moreno. It’s that last thing in the world I want.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  He bites my lower lip, sucks it into his mouth. “You also know why I agreed to it, right?”

  I nod, clinging to him. His arm slides around my waist. His hand fists in my hair. Into my ear he says, “Why?”

  I know what he wants me to say, but I can’t. I can’t say those words out loud. So I only make a small noise in my throat and shake my head.

  He whispers, “Chicken.”

  Without warning, he swings me up into his arms and turns for the bedroom.

  This time, I don’t make any smartass comments about his biceps. I hold on to him as he strides past the wall of succulents and stare at his handsome profile. A rising pulse of heat starts to simmer through my body because I know what he’s going to do as soon as we get to the bedroom.

  And he does. He lays me down on the bed, shucks off his boots, wordlessly strips off all my clothes, gets on his knees, and puts his mouth on me.

  I arch and cry out his name, already desperate.

  “Shh,” he hushes me gently. “We’re gonna go slow this time. Slow like I’ve wanted to every time, but we always ended up goin’ hard and fast.”

  He dips his head and presses the softest of kisses to my clit. I jerk and suck in a breath.

  “Hush, Angel,” he whispers. “Just feel this.”

  His breath is warm on my exposed flesh. It feels decadent and so sexy, knowing I’m totally exposed to him and he can see everything, but he’s just languidly running his rough palms over my belly and breasts, hovering between my legs like we have all the time in the world, stroking my skin like there’s no tomorrow.

  He nuzzles his nose gently in the space between my thigh and sex, inhaling deeply. It sends a rash of tingles up my spine. My heartbeat goes jagged. I get small bites all along the insides of my thighs, tender bites, like he’s testing my flesh, tasting it. Every so often, a soft swipe of his tongue chases away a sting where his nip was a little too strong.

  He kisses me between my legs again, reaching up to squeeze my aching breasts, and I moan, unable to keep it in.

  “God, I love that sound,” he breathes, and slides his tongue deep inside me at the same time he pinches my hard nipples, rolling his thumbs over the rigid peaks.

  Heat erupts along all my nerve endings. I close my eyes and rock my hips, wanting to get closer, needing his mouth all over me, inside me, everywhere at once. I feel like I’m starving, like I’ll break apart if he doesn’t get inside me soon, and I tell him in a breathless whisper that I need to feel him, now.

  “Oh, she thinks she’s in charge.” He chuckles. “How sweet.”

  He continues to flick his thumb over my nipple as he draws the other hand down my body, spreading it open under my ass and using it to lift me closer to his face. Then he suckles me slowly, his tongue wet and hot, his lips making suction while the rough pad of his thumb strokes my outer lips.

  “Please,” I whisper, writhing against this mouth, the pressure building. “God. Please.”

  “Tell me how it feels,” he says harshly. The tremor in his voice tells me he’s getting closer to losing his control—and knowing it’s all because of me, because of how I’m reacting to him and what he’s doing to me—makes it so much hotter.

  I whisper, “So good. So amazing. It feels…it feels like I’m yours.”

  His groan sends a vibration through my core that feels so incredible I jerk. His tongue laps faster against my clit. His thumb slides inside me, but it’s not enough.

  “Please,” I beg again, a pulse of pleasure throbbing between my legs.

  “Don’t come yet, baby. Just feel this. Just breathe.”

  His whispered command makes me shudder. His voice is so soft yet so hard, so confident, so fucking sexy I can’t help but rock faster against his mouth, cupping my breasts so I can pinch my nipples while his hands dig into my hips, trying to hold me in place.

  “Look at you all swollen for me,” he says softly, then slides his tongue up and down my cleft, flat, lapping, until he gets back up top and he does a swirling thing that makes me groan and shudder. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I love how you respond to me, Angel.”

  He can’t wait anymore. He rises up, drags his shirt over his head, rips open the fly of his jeans, then takes his erection in his fist. “Need your mouth, sweetheart,” he rasps.

  I sit up, scoot closer to him, wrap my hand around the thick base of his cock, and slide the head between my lips.

  His soft moan is my reward.

  I stroke his shaft as I get the head of his cock wet all over, then take it deeper into my mouth, sucking, feeling him tight and hot against my tongue. He hisses in a breath, digging his hands into my hair, and flexes his hips, looking down at me as I suck him deeper into my mouth.

  He gasps when I take him all the way to the base.

  When I circle my other hand around his balls, he shudders. I start a rhythm, achingly slow, a drag and pull with my mouth that allows me to feel every ridge and vein, to savor his heat and taste, to listen as his moans grow louder and more broken.

  “Not yet,” he pants. “I want to come in your mouth, but not…oh fuck.”

  I’m circling my tongue around and around his engorged head. He’s watching me, eyes half-shut, mouth open, hair falling into his eyes as his chest heaves wit
h every breath. His hands on either side of my head are shaking.

  Then suddenly I’m on my back again. He hovers over me, big and powerful, a mountain of a man, his half-lidded eyes filled with lust and possession. “Spread your legs,” he orders softly, “and fuck that sweet pussy on my cock.”

  I obey him, reaching down for his erection, finding it and sliding it back and forth between my legs until it’s slick. He holds himself still above me, arms braced and every muscle flexed as I guide the head of his cock inside me, canting my hips to get the angle right.

  “Slow,” he warns as I immediately start to buck against it. I drop my head against the mattress, drag a ragged breath into my lungs, and very slowly flex my hips so he eases inside me, inch by beautiful, hard inch, until he’s fully sheathed.

  “You’ve still got your jeans on,” I say breathlessly.

  He answers in a voice like gravel. “I’ll take ’em off in a minute. Need you like this first. Now rock against that cock, baby, and kiss me.”

  I pull his head down and kiss him deeply, my thighs trembling on either side of his hips, my heartbeat like thunder. Then, very slowly, I start to move my hips in a circular motion. It feels so good I clutch the hard globes of his ass and grind against him, rubbing my sensitive clit against his pelvis while keeping the entire throbbing length of him inside.

  “Oh God, this is my new favorite thing,” I pant. “You’re so hard. God, you’re rock-hard for me.”

  “Let it build. Don’t rush it. Just feel me. Feel how good we are together.”

  He lowers his head and sucks on my nipple. I arch into his mouth, gasping, wanting to laugh and cry and scream all at the same time, every emotion pummeling me so I have to fight for breath.

  “My beautiful Angel,” Ryan murmurs against my skin, moving his mouth to my other breast and sucking it, his soft hair tickling my skin. His voice drops to a whisper. “You have my heart. You know you have my heart.”

  I swallow a sob.

  He lowers his chest to mine so his whole body is pressed against me. Then he inhales against my neck, makes a deep sound of pleasure, and flexes his hips. “C’mon, baby,” he gently prompts when I fall still. “That’s your cock. Fuck it.”