Bespoken: An Opposites-Attract Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 2)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

“Please,” I panted.

  I almost cried when he pulled back, but when I saw it was only so he could reach lower between us, my shoulders sagged with relief.

  Pure fire coursed through my veins as his fingers trailed over my stomach toward the waist of my pants. The path of his fingers made each place he touched go up in smoke.

  More.

  More touch.

  More fire.

  More Mick.

  Air stuck like gum to the insides of my lungs, watching his large fingers make deft work of unbuttoning my jeans. Years of woodworking meant those hands worked with effortless coordination in spite of their size.

  Once undone, he stopped and locked his smoldering gaze to mine.

  “You sure?” he asked and waited, making sure I knew that no matter his strength and size, I would always have the upper hand.

  “I want you, Mick,” I whispered once more, hardly recognizing my own voice.

  His eyes flared. “Anything for you, darlin’,” he promised.

  My heart thudded violently against my chest as he slowly knelt in front of me, taking my jeans and panties down with him.

  His gaze never left mine. Never blinked. Never faltered. And my cheeks stained a deeper pink as I gripped his shoulders and stepped each foot free.

  Sliding his hands over the goose bump-covered length of my legs, he settled them on my hips.

  Mick’s eyes shut for a beat as he inhaled me—my bone-deep innocence and potent desire. And when they opened, it was with pure intoxication.

  The thrill of power that ran through me made my knees quake. With just one look, he made me feel like I could conquer anything. Even him.

  I let out a gasp as he effortlessly hoisted me up and deposited me onto the countertop.

  “Did you just set me down in flour?” I asked with a strangled laugh, feeling the distinct sensation of powder under my butt.

  “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll lick off every bit of it.” He grinned, making me squeeze my thighs shut.

  Finding my gaze, he captured it fervently as his hands slid to the tops of my thighs just underneath the edge of his shirt I still wore like an oversized dress.

  Slowly, he spread my legs apart, my skin pebbling under his thick, calloused fingertips as he trailed his hands toward my aching center.

  My breath labored as he got closer and finally stopped altogether as he reached my aching core, covering his mouth with mine and swallowing my cry as the tips of his fingers brushed over my slick folds.

  I felt him spread me open before he began to rub me with magical pressure along the length of my slit, dipping into my entrance before gliding back to swirl around my clit.

  Each stroke sent unchecked electricity through my veins, making every cell quake and spark with need. Moan after moan spilled into his mouth and against his tongue as his fingers teased my swollen pussy until desire dripped from his fingers.

  “So hot and wet for me. Goin’ to get that taste now, darlin’,” he promised me with a low, rough voice, giving me one last chance to stop him.

  I wasn’t going to take it.

  Planting my hands behind me for support, I leaned back and inched my legs wider in invitation to where I wanted him and his expert mouth.

  Mick’s whole body went taut, the sheen of sweat that broke over him marked both the strength of desire and restraint.

  I moaned softly, another rush of wetness dripping from my sex when he reached down to adjust his erection, moving the wide length from where it was trapped against his leg up higher so he could bend with slightly more comfort.

  I wanted to touch him. But that would come later. It would have to. If he didn’t touch me now—if he didn’t bring me back down from the heights he’d driven me to, I didn’t know if I would make it.

  With a rough jerk, he tugged my hips to the edge of the counter and dropped to his knees in front of me. His body vibrated with a hungry growl as he pushed the shirt he’d given me out of the way to bare my swollen sex to him.

  “Perfect.”

  Like a starved man, Mick’s head dove forward and he flattened his tongue firmly over my slit, licking from one end to the other with strong, starving strokes.

  Pleasure shot through my system harder and stronger than adrenaline. It kicked every sense into high gear and every nerve ending on in full force.

  “Mick!”

  My hips jerked against him. I couldn’t stop one hand from reaching for his head, desperate for more of his touch. On its way, I knocked over the bag of flour, sending a small plume of white mist onto him and the floor—he didn’t notice and I couldn’t care.

  My fingers twisted into his thick hair, cinching his mouth against me.

  “You are the sweetest goddamn thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rasped, his tongue licking every inch of my pussy before swirling around my clit.

  Each flick over the sensitive nub sent me spiraling, harder and faster, toward my orgasm—toward freedom.

  He sucked on my clit with long steady draws and, just when I thought my senses were too frayed for more, I felt his hand slip next to his mouth.

  Biting my lip, a strangled cry tried to escape as he pushed one thick finger inside me. Slowly but firmly, he stretched through tight muscles that contracted with the violent need to come, the sensation making him let out a long groan against my pussy.

  I couldn’t keep up with the sensations, they were too large—too overwhelming to process as they happened. His lips sucking on me, his tongue lashing over my clit, his finger spearing into my very center. My mind lagged behind my body as it quaked and shuddered around him.

  I stared at the sandy-brown head devouring me, watching my hand fisted tighter into his hair, trusting him to steady me and give my body the release it strained for.

  “Oh my God, Mick,” I panted, grinding myself against his tongue and hand as I lost control. “I can’t… I… can’t…”

  His lips latched around my clit and sucked hard, and I screamed as my climax completely shattered my body.

  Quaking violently against him, my core gripped his finger and flooded my release against his lips. His tongue greedily lapped up the fruit of its labors, gently bringing me down from the heights I’d been flung to.

  “Sweetest damn thing,” he crooned, placing a gentle kiss to the inside of my thigh and leaving a desire-coated imprint of his lips on my skin.

  I could hardly breathe. Responding was out of the question.

  “I got you, darlin’,” he rasped, his spare arm reaching around my lower back to support me while my body tried to figure out how to put itself back together.

  More bits and pieces from reality began to filter in, my brain feeling like it had been thrown into overdrive.

  For a moment, I was embarrassed I was still crying out—a strange, high-pitched noise that didn’t seem human. And then I realized it wasn’t me; the timer on the oven had gone off at that exact moment.

  “The cookies!” I exclaimed, shuddering as the air from his chuckle brushed over my sensitive clit.

  “Trust me, darlin’, that was much better than any damn cookie,” he promised hoarsely, rising slowly and pulling me upright. “Don’t even want one now. Don’t want to ruin your taste.”

  I blushed and scooted my legs together, trying to stop the wetness between them from dripping.

  He planted his hands on the counter on either side of me, his lopsided grin growing at the mess I’d made.

  Now reality really hit me—being half-naked on his counter, flour on the floor, and the cookies I was supposed to help make probably burning in the oven.

  “Please, I don’t want my first batch of cookies to burn,” I begged quietly.

  He gave me a hard look, like he was more than ready to let them burn down the building rather than break this moment with me. But my head was still spinning—still processing—and if nothing else, I really wanted to wipe the flour off my butt before he could see.

  With a reluctant grunt, he whipped the towel off the counter an
d turned to the oven, but not before I saw the way his jeans stretched over his erection. Maybe I should’ve let the cookies burn…

  Seeing my momentary opportunity to clean myself up, I wiggled to the edge of the counter, eyeing my underwear and pants. But what happened next did not go as planned…

  Due to the unfortunate mix of slippery flour combined with various spots of wetness, something, somewhere, stuck as I went to hop down, making me land unbalanced on sock-clad feet, a situation compounded by the flour I’d spilled onto the floor.

  In just a few short seconds and a high-pitched squeal later, I found myself sprawled on Mick’s kitchen floor. Pantless. And covered in fine white powder.

  My head fell, my face burning with embarrassment, but I couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted.

  Maybe because I was still in an orgasm-induced high. Maybe because I’d just baked cookies for the very first time. Or maybe because this was one ingredient that life was supposed to have: cheek-heating, belly-quaking laughter.

  “What the—” Mick swore and spun in my direction a moment before he crouched in front of me. “Shit, darlin’, are you okay?”

  He reached for my shaking shoulders, and I heard him inhale another curse.

  “It’s alright, Jules,” he said softly, rubbing my shoulders. “It’s my fault. I’m too big and I knocked it over and made this damn mess…”

  I shook my head, wanting to tell him I wasn’t crying but I couldn’t get the words out. I lifted my head to his and watched the concern melt from his face when he realized I was shaking with laughter.

  This time, I got both dimples on the sides of that smile. “We’re quite a sight.”

  Flour was everywhere. The floor. Our clothes. Smudged on our faces and in my hair and his… it wasn’t something fine or fancy, in fact it was a downright mess.

  But it was real.

  And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  “Okay, darlin’.” His hands tightened slightly on my arms, careful of his own strength. “Let me help you up here, nice and slow. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

  One second, he was helping me up while I tried to catch my breath between the giggles and my racing heart and the next, I was frozen, my whole body petrified in place as my mind traveled back.

  Back in time.

  Back into the darkness.

  Back to the night I’d crawled out onto that sidewalk to try to help Laurel. To the night when I could taste blood as it dripped into my mouth and fought not to breathe because my ribs hurt so badly. To the night when I’d heard the gunshot ring out a few moments before I felt myself cocooned in the strongest, most protective embrace I’d ever felt.

  And back to the night when I’d pried my swollen eyes open to see Mick’s face staring down at me, promising me he’d take care of me with those exact words.

  It was him… it was always him.

  “It was you,” I choked out, my voice somewhere between the level of a whisper and a breeze as my head throbbed so painfully.

  “Jules?” His eyes searched mine frantically, but I was too lost in the memories that ran through my mind like a stampede, demolishing anything in its path.

  “You saved me that night, not Ace,” I croaked, hurt and betrayal exploding in every syllable.

  His eyes widened and recognition flared, quickly followed by the bitter burn of shame.

  I swallowed hard, trying to process the information. He’d saved me. Why would he lie about this?

  He’d saved me.

  He’d saved us.

  Why would he lie about it?

  Why would the man who was always honest with me lie about this?

  I wanted to be grateful. Instead, my head pounded mercilessly knowing that the man I’d just let touch me—the only man I’d ever let touch me there—had kept this from me this whole time. It didn’t fit with who I thought he was and the knowledge seemed like the keystone that, once removed, sent everything I knew of him crumbling to the ground.

  “Darlin’, I can explain,” he said calmly, but it made no difference, I could hardly hear, his voice sounded so far away. Just like that night.

  I detached my arms from his and pushed myself up to stand, crossing my arms over my chest. I felt exposed, vulnerable. Confused.

  “Am I right?”

  He had the decency to not say another word, instead just nod and confirm that this wasn’t just another figment of my injured brain.

  I shook my head mutely, reaching for my clothes and tugging them roughly back over me. “I… I need to go.”

  “Please…” He wiped a hand over his mouth like it could wipe the previous lies from his lips. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell you, Jules. I wanted to, darlin’. You have to believe me.”

  He stepped toward me and stopped the instant he saw me pull back.

  “Why?”

  His expression shuddered and I felt the wall go up even before he spoke. “Because I killed him, darlin’… I shot a man dead in the streets with a gun I didn’t have a license to have, much less fire.”

  His jaw tensed so hard I wondered if the California seismographs picked up the shocks from the force.

  I shook my head, not familiar with what that meant, but I had to assume it wasn’t good. “But why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  Mick heaved a sigh, dragging one hand through his hair before roughly shoving them both into his pockets.

  “I couldn’t, darlin’.” His frustration with himself showed through like a wine stain on a white t-shirt. “I couldn’t tell you and, hell, if I still can’t. Just know that I wanted to, okay? Know that I wanted to and then talk to Laurel. Please.”

  Laurel?

  My stomach seized. Of course, she knew. Even though it made my head ache unimaginably, I could see that part of the night clearly now. She told Mick to take care of me as Eli and Ace showed up. And then they’d told him to leave before the cops came.

  She’d been lying to me, too.

  I staggered back and Mick had to turn away to stop himself from reaching for me. I knew he wanted to help—he always did.

  I thought the worst thing about that night was not remembering. I realized now that the worst part was knowing that what I was told hadn’t been the truth. And I needed to know why.

  “I have to go.”

  “I’m sorry, darlin,” he pleaded like I was ripping his heart from his chest and he was apologizing for bleeding all over my shirt. “Please, just talk to Laurel and then we’ll talk again.”

  It wasn’t a question, but maybe it should’ve been.

  I made it outside the building before the tears began to fall. Of all the people… of all the things… once again, I found my life, my memories, and my whole perception of that night distorted.

  Once again, I found myself spoken for.

  Jules

  I’d never been to Covington Security before; I’d never had the need.

  But the modern gray structure hidden at the end of a gated drive just outside Carmel was everything I would’ve expected for one of the top security agencies on the west coast.

  Fortified. Unassuming. Powerful.

  Black framed windows and a black roof offset the flat gray of the exterior. Styled with clean lines and distinct block-like breaks to give it depth and allude to how large of an operation ran inside.

  If Transformers could be buildings and not just cars, this place would be one—sitting ready at a moment’s notice to turn from headquarters of security into a soldier.

  Climbing down from the maintenance truck, the gravel crunched under my pale gray heels.

  I only had a little time before I had to get back to the resort for the luncheon with the new investors. Even coming here now was risking a major argument with my parents.

  But I didn’t have a choice. I had to know the truth.

  And I had to get it from the one person who knew, but wasn’t emotionally attached to me the way Laurel and Mick were.

  “Miss Vandelsen.” Ace Covington stepped out
from the doorframe where he’d been standing, his arms crossed over his fitted dark blue attire like a stone soldier.

  My chin dipped. “Mr. Covington.”

  “Ace,” he instructed, leading the way inside. “Follow me.”

  I didn’t see much other choice. The interior of the building was as complex as the exterior was simple, and Ace led me through a maze of halls and rooms before settling on a single door.

  “I asked Laurel to meet me here,” I informed him as he held the door open for me.

  “I know.”

  I paused, blinking up at him in surprise.

  “She called me. I’ll have Dex bring her in when she gets here.”

  “Oh.” Folding my arms, I walked into the space that was sparsely filled, containing nothing more than a round table with four chairs.

  “So, Miss Vandelsen, how can I help you?” Ace asked as I took a seat, watching the larger man remain standing and staring at me with an ascertaining gaze.

  “Just Jules. Please. And I came to talk to you about the night of my kidnapping,” I told him bluntly. When he didn’t respond, I continued, “I know it was Mick who killed the man who kidnapped and attacked me, and I want to know why the truth was kept from me.”

  Shivers raced down my spine, emotion welling inside my chest. I clasped my hands in my lap, locking my fingers tight as though it could keep the tears at bay.

  I couldn’t be emotional. And last night, I was emotional.

  I was so emotional I hadn’t realized I’d left with Mick’s shirt on. Thank goodness it was only Mrs. Potts who caught me in the hall and asked if everything was okay, concerned about the extra-extra-large construction t-shirt still draped over me and decorated with flour.

  It wasn’t convincing by any means, but telling her I spilled coffee on my blouse and Laurel’s boyfriend loaned me the shirt to wear was better than telling her the truth.

  “Do you remember everything that happened?” Ace drawled.

  I shuddered. “I remember being at Roasters, but nothing before it.”

  I wished I could recall that part, too. I’d remembered so much last night but trying to go back before that man had dragged me into Roasters was like trying to run through a brick wall. Impossible.