“You want my mouth on you again, you’re going to tell me the fucking truth. Why did you lie to me? Who did this to you?”
It’s a relief to realize he means the present—not the past. Still it’s hard to tell him. I can’t tell him, at least not until he leans forward to give my sex an openmouthed kiss. He slides his lips over me, grazes me with his teeth, makes me rock upward to reach for him.
And stops again.
I whimper. “God, Blue, please. I can’t take this, please.”
“Then tell me what I want to know, baby. Tell me who put their hands on you.”
His voice is hypnotic, and I’m almost there. At the brink of orgasm. On the verge of breaking down. “If I tell you, you’ll hurt him.”
He doesn’t look surprised—or hurt or offended. It’s understanding that crosses his face, sympathy for me. “I know it’s hard. I know you’re afraid.”
I shudder, because it’s so rare to be known that way. Only him. He’s the only one who’s ever tried. “It’s the guy you threw out that night. The one who was…hurting me in the VIP room.”
His hands tighten on my thighs almost painfully, and I know he’s holding back violence. “We’ll look up the receipts and go through the security feed. We’ll find out who he is,” he says roughly. “He won’t touch you again, Hannah.”
I flinch but don’t correct him. Changing my name won’t help me here. This isn’t a stage. “And then what? You’ll go after him. You’ll hurt him. You’ll…kill him. This isn’t some underground fighting ring.”
“No, this is fucking real.”
He already beat up Travis for touching me. What will he do when he finds out he attacked me at my home? “And then you’ll go to jail. How does that help anyone?”
His expression is dark. “I’m not your father.”
“Why, Blue? Because you don’t get caught? Is that what makes you different?”
He shakes his head. “And you’re definitely not your mother. You’d never let a man bring you low.”
“You think so? I don’t know what I’d do if you went to jail, Blue. If you went to jail for me. I don’t think I’d be able to survive it.”
His expression is intent—and wondering. “You always take what I give you.”
I can take the rough sex and cruel words. I can take him leaving. I can’t take knowing he’s in trouble because of me. I can’t take knowing he’s locked up. “Not that,” I whisper.
I half expect him to walk away from me, leaving me bared and wanting.
Instead he leans forward. This time he doesn’t stop. He licks my clit with a kind of tender ferocity, both gentle and insistent, until I’m shaking on the table and bottles rattle with the vibrations. “Blue,” I cry.
He doesn’t pause, not even for words. He just licks and licks with a firmness that will never tire—between the two of us, I’m the one who breaks first. Climax washes over me in hard, almost painful waves, and I rock my hips against him, moaning helplessly into the empty room while the heavy beat of a dance song pounds against the walls.
When he’s done making me come, he leaves.
It’s only later that I notice the gold watch is gone.
Chapter Eighteen
I don’t see Blue the rest of the night. Or the next.
He has Oscar escort me home with strict orders not to come back to work. Of course I go back anyway, but Ivan has told the bouncers I’m not to work. Blue isn’t there.
I’m worried about him. Did he take the watch?
I know he did.
He turned my own weakness against me, stealing what I’ve stolen. Except I only steal in mindless, desperate moments of stress. He is methodical and stone cold. What will he do when he finds the man who owns it?
Mrs. Owens asks about the nice man who visited us. “Did you invite him over for tea?” she asks.
I don’t have the heart to tell her no, but the truth is I don’t know if I’ll see Blue again. The oral sex he gave me may very well have been goodbye. He doesn’t owe me anything. I should be happy if he doesn’t hate me anymore—that should be reward enough.
If he isn’t killing another man on my behalf, that will definitely be reward enough.
It’s Candy who finally tips me over the edge. We’re talking on the phone in the morning, her voice tired after a long night of dancing. “Don’t fall for his bullshit,” she says in warning.
“What?”
“He’s going to feed you some line about taking care of you, protecting you, et cetera.”
“He’s not feeding me any line, Candy. He’s not even speaking to me.”
“That’s just because he’s busy being all vigilante. Men have one-track minds, you know. Once he’s done with that, he’ll come for you.”
“What do you mean, vigilante? Have you heard anything?”
She snorts. “I don’t have to hear anything. No one gets to touch you. Hell, he’d probably kick my ass if we did the Double Trouble routine.”
Nerves twist my stomach. “He’s going to get himself in trouble. A guy like Travis isn’t going to take it lying down. He’ll tell the cops.”
“Blue would rather be in jail than sitting at home, knowing that the asshole who hurt you was still walking around.”
Fuck. “Well, I wouldn’t rather that. Don’t I get a say in it?”
“Not really,” Candy says more softly. “It was sweet of you to try and protect him. I understand why you did it.”
“And for nothing.”
“Not nothing. Blue knows how much you care about him. It’s like a fucking declaration of love, you being like that. He understands that. He came from the same place you did.”
Yeah, Blue did. He knows how little words mean. I love you. I care about you. They don’t mean anything. It’s actions that count—and protecting him, letting myself be hurt to keep him safe, meant the most. I was afraid for him to find out because he’d know how I felt about him. He’d use it against me.
That was what men did, use things against me. Their bodies, their words.
I expected that from Blue, but instead he just licked my clit until I came.
“I need to find him,” I say suddenly, decisively. I need to convince him that Travis doesn’t matter. I’ll move out of this neighborhood to get away from him. Somehow I’ll do that, even if I have to accept Blue’s help.
If he still wants to help me.
I have to try.
“He’s going to want you to quit,” Candy says. I can hear the pout in her voice. “Then who am I going to have to annoy at the club?”
“Umm, all the other girls? And he’s not going to want me to quit. I mean, he is, but I’m going to say no.” That is, if he’s still a free man after whatever he does to Travis.
“The other girls don’t stand up to me.”
“That’s because you’re mildly terrifying.”
“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “And he’s going to convince you to quit, just watch. Men are very convincing with their dicks. It’s why I don’t let them inside me.”
I snort, thinking of Ivan. He may not have put his inside her yet, but he’s thought about it. “I’m not going to quit. I have to bills to pay.”
“I mean, obviously he will help with that. I’m all for saying no, but if you’re going to let one fuck you…”
“No, Candy. That’s not how relationships work.”
“It’s how some relationships work.”
I picture Blue with his lust and his anger, fire and ice. I remember him that last night at the club, the sweet way he kissed my clit before making me come. I don’t know how it can work while I’m stripping. I don’t know how it can work if I’m not. “All I know is that I want him. I want something real. For the first time in my life, I want something better.”
* * *
I push the glass doors open and send a small wave to the doorman. I expect him to give me that genial smile and press the button so the elevators work. Instead his expression is serious as he steps o
ut from behind the desk.
My stomach drops. Has Blue banned me from coming to his building?
“Ms. Brown?”
I almost feel like crying as I stare at the doorman who once believed I belonged. What does he think of me now? “That’s me.”
“If you have a moment, I’d like to add you to our systems.”
I blink. “What?”
“If I can take down your information, I’ll add you to the system. That way I can give you a key card and the guards on other shifts will know you’re allowed up.”
“Oh.” A question is forming, and I’m afraid to give it a voice. “Did something change? I mean, we didn’t do this before.”
And then I get the gentle smile I’ve been missing, almost fond. “Actually, Mr. Blue notified us that you’re to be given complete access to his apartment. If you’re busy now, we could do it another time.”
“No, I think…now would be best.”
Because depending on what I find upstairs, what I say—Blue may very well throw me out. And he might forget to notify security when he does. At least then I’d have a way of getting back in.
Chapter Nineteen
It turns out I don’t need the key card to get in. The elevator doors open on a quiet hallway, everything beige and silver and sleek. From a few yards away I see the crack in Blue’s door.
It’s open.
I slow down but keep walking. My eyes narrow as I take in the strange state of the door—and the smudge of something dark on the handle. Blood?
I’m probably overreacting. It’s probably just dirt or paint. And the door is probably propped open because he needed to carry something heavy. I can’t shake the dread in my stomach though, especially after our last conversation.
I put my palm on the door and push. It’s heavier than I expect.
The apartment looks normal enough. The furniture is in place. No horror-movie pools of blood. No body on the couch, still warm but long gone—that was how I’d found my mother. That vision has haunted me for most of my life. It still does, but now I’m moving past the empty leather couch. Now I’m searching for someone else.
The bathroom door is cracked open, yellow light streaming through.
I don’t knock or call out. The bathroom door lists open as soon as my fingers brush against it. Then I can see him—all of him. He’s standing at the sink, scrubbing his hands. There’s no paint on them, no dirt. And definitely not any blood.
The water that runs down the drain is clear.
“Blue?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up. He just keeps washing and washing his hands, running his fingers over clean skin. “What are you doing here?”
I bite my lip, unsure what to say. He must have thought I might come. That’s why he added me to the list. He must want me here.
He doesn’t seem to want me here, though. It’s a private moment I’ve walked in on.
I step into the bathroom. “Are you okay?”
After a second, he turns off the faucet. Silence rings in the small space. He sets his hands on the edge of the counter and hangs his head. He looks defeated. Broken. I didn’t do that, did I? Was he okay before he came back?
Has he ever been okay?
I want to go to him, but the lines of his shoulders are rigid. “Blue, whatever you did—”
His mouth is on mine before I can answer. It’s not a kiss, it’s a fusing of him and me—it’s rough and invasive. It hurts, and I never want him to stop. His hands sink into my hair, still wet from the sink, sending droplets onto my neck.
“What?” he asks, nipping at my lips, not letting me speak. “If I killed someone, you’ll forgive me? If I have a body in my fucking fridge, you’ll help me hide it?”
I shiver. I know he’s trying to scare me—and it’s working. I’m afraid.
Fear doesn’t control me anymore. It doesn’t define me.
“Yes,” I say softly. “That’s what I’d do. I’m on your side. Now and forever. I’ve always been on your side.”
A shudder racks him, and he presses his forehead to mine. “It’s not safe for you with me.”
And then I can’t help it. I have to touch him. I put my hands on his big shoulders, feel him vibrate with tension. It’s like touching a wild animal. There’s power and ferocity and intelligence. I could never control him. I only want to follow where he leads.
“It’s never been safe for me, Blue. Except when I’m with you.”
My words seem to unlock something within him. They unleash him. He comes at my mouth like he’s going to consume me—teeth and tongue, harsh and relentless. Strong hands lift me onto the counter, and I hold on to him for balance.
He kisses his way down my jaw and over my collarbone. He touches me all over, his hands mapping every inch. It’s a claiming, with his mouth as the brand and his body holding me in place.
He reaches between us, and I brace myself for his fingers. They’ll be blunt now. They’ll hurt.
Instead I hear a zipper as he opens himself up.
My dress rides up easy, and he shoves aside my panties. His cock lines up, and I tense. I know how it feels going in dry, but I don’t try to stop him. He needs this from me, and I need him to take it.
I’m slicker than I thought. He slides in quick, but it still stretches me out.
My mouth opens on a gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss me hard. He fucks me from both sides, his tongue thrusting, his cock deep inside. He doesn’t relent until I’m fighting him, struggling for breath and for relief, the ache in my sex so strong I’m clenching around him, milking him while he moans into my mouth.
He speeds up fast enough that I can’t keep up, I can only stay open to him, battered by him, shoved over the edge by him. It’s like falling, and he’s the only thing holding me up. Only his cock keeps me grounded while I climax around it, breaking into pieces, coming back together in his arms.
* * *
He puts me in the shower—literally strips me down completely and lifts me into the shower. I’m not a doll, because he checks the temperature before pushing me gently under the spray. I’m not a child, because he washes me slowly, sensually, lingering on my breasts and between my thighs.
My legs shake as he plays with my folds, fingers slick with water and soap and arousal.
He holds me against him, my back to his chest, supporting me. I’m not standing anymore, not holding on to the walls of the shower. There’s only his arms holding me up, his fingers inside me. There’s only the low murmur of his voice in my ear, reassuring me, soothing me. “Let go, gorgeous. Let go.”
I think he means more than this shower, more than my body.
He wants me to let go of everything I’ve been fighting to keep—control and security. This wall I’ve been building around myself, each brick made from scarlet lipstick or high heels, paved with a fuck-me smile. It’s the only way I know how to be safe.
Even that it’s never actually made me safe.
Safety is a dream, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. If I smile enough and dance enough and take off my clothes enough, maybe one day I’ll reach it. Except it doesn’t exist.
I whimper, and Blue murmurs to me, “Shhh.”
My eyes fall shut, letting him pull me from the shower, trusting him completely as he guides me onto a plush mat. He dries my body with a towel, lifting my arms and kneeling at my feet. It’s a form of service, what he’s doing, the way he’s caring for me—an apology and promise all at once.
“I know you’ve been worried about me,” he says, breath warm against my temple. “I know you’ve been protecting me all this time. Let me protect you.”
The words strip me bare.
When you really think about protection, what it means, it’s a cruel thing to accept. If he is my shelter in the storm, then he is the one battered by wind and lightning. He is the one taking away my pain. I’ve never wanted to let him do that.
It hurts him that I don’t let him do that.
He lifts me up,
and I wrap my arms around his neck. I curl myself up in him, knowing that if any harm will come to us, it will come to him first. I let him give me what my mother never had—a man who cared more about her than himself, someone who would fight for her, someone who would stay.
His lips are soft against my forehead, a gentle kiss before he lays me down on his bed.
The sheets are white, the walls bare. I’ve been in this room before, been fucked here and used. Being cherished is almost harder to take, more foreign. More of a risk, because if I lose this now, if I lose him now, it will break me. I will be as lost as my mother, like I swore to myself I’d never be.
“Did you take the watch?” My voice sounds loud in the dark room.
He pauses in the act of getting into bed beside me, sheet raised. Then he slides in, the hair on his legs a lovely friction against mine. His arms wrap around me, underneath and above, a cocoon of cotton and man, a dark space for just us two.
I drop my voice to a whisper. “Did you kill him?”
“I’m not going to lie to you,” he says softly. “I thought about it. I’m still thinking about it.”
At this I can breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
He shifts me so I’m on his chest, and when I move my hands under my chin, it’s just like before. We’re teenagers again, and he’s whispering his secrets. I’m whispering mine.
“I don’t care about what a judge says is right or wrong,” he says. “You know that about me. You’ve always known that about me.”
“They don’t understand,” I say, but that’s a lie. Sometimes they do understand and just don’t care. Sometimes their hands are trapped just as much as ours.
And sometimes a killer is born.
A boy who needed to fight to survive. A teenager thrown into war. I don’t blame Blue for what he is. A judge can’t help him any more than one could help me. We were both cast out of society long before we thought to leave, both told we were wrong before we knew what was right.
He washes his hands even when they’re clean, because some part of that little boy is still inside.
Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle Page 56