Wrecked With You (Stark Security Book 4)

by J. Kenner

  Tony and I meet each other’s eyes, and I honestly can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry.

  “I thought maybe we’d met before,” Tracy Ann continues, as she gets out of the spring and pulls her dress over her wet, naked body. It clings, mostly see-through in the fading light. “Or that you heard about me from a friend of a friend. So what’s the serpent? A new kind of sex toy?”

  “Ah, not exactly,” Tony says.

  “Well, come have a drink with me and tell me all about it.”

  “Why don’t we catch up to you?”

  “Sure thing.” She winks at us. “Don’t have too much fun without me. And don’t be offended if I’m having fun with someone else when I see you again. That’s what I love the most about this place. It’s so easy to meet new people.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We love being social.”

  Tracy Ann laughs, wiggles her fingers, then heads off down the path.

  Tony pulls me closer, then nuzzles my ear as he whispers, “What the hell was that?”

  I laugh as I settle on his lap, feeling his cock rise to the occasion. “As far as I’m concerned, it was foreplay. Take me back to the cabana?”

  “Not a chance,” he says, shifting so that we both slide off the stone bench and into the water. “I’m going to take you right here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Alone at last,” he says.

  I grin and move closer in order to straddle him. “This is what I wanted,” I say. I hook my hands around his neck and pull him close, bending down for a kiss that tastes like salt water. Then I wiggle against him and feel his cock stiffen between my legs, rubbing my pussy in a way that makes me want even more.

  “You lied, you know.”

  “Did I?”

  “You told Tracy and you didn’t have a condom. I’m going to be very sad if that’s true.”

  “Just trying to conserve resources for where it matters,” he says.

  “Very glad to hear it.” I put my hands on his shoulders, then slowly move them down. I’d been mostly bound last night, and though my hands were free to roam when he’d been gooey with whipped cream, I haven’t yet gotten my fill of his body.

  Now, I’m going to take full advantage.

  He’s slick from the water and my hands move easily over him. He closes his eyes as I explore, and I wriggle with pleasure, realizing that he is enjoying being touched as much as I had when he’d had me bound.

  I slide my hands lower, trailing below the water line as I run my fingers through the hair on his chest, amusing myself by tracing patterns before moving on to tease his nipples at the same time that I bend close for a kiss that I end by tugging on his lower lip with my teeth as my hand moves further down.

  I trace the line of hair from his chest to his abdomen and then all the way down to his cock, now as stiff as a rod.

  “This is interesting,” I say as I curl my hand around his shaft, then stroke him slowly, keeping up a steady rhythm as he closes his eyes and murmurs, “Oh, sweetheart, yes.”

  I smile, pleased by his reaction. The sounds of pleasure. The obvious arousal. And, of course, the increased tempo of the pulse in his throat.

  I feel powerful. In control. I like it. Of course, there’s no doubt that I also like submitting to this man. I think we both proved that last night, but there’s something incredibly satisfying about bringing a strong man to his knees.

  As if to prove the point, I tighten my fingers around his cock and increase the tempo of my up and down strokes, putting pressure on the vein and teasing the tip with the ball of my thumb with each motion.

  “On me, sweetheart,” he demands. “Find the damn condom and ride me.”

  Since that’s an invitation I’m not about to ignore, I do what he says. I find the condom that he’s fumbled from the pocket of his discarded pants. I manage to open it with one hand and my teeth, and then I release his cock long enough sheath him.

  I straddle him, rubbing tip of his hard cock against my core, teasing myself and him before finally impaling myself on him in one powerful downward thrust so that we both feel the intensity of this connection.

  I bite back a cry as he fills me, and he groans with equal intensity, then cries my name so that it echoes around us, making me even more turned on. He cups my ass, then lifts me, maneuvering me up and down as he whispers for me to stroke my clit and his cock at the same time.

  I do, and the flurry of sensations is too much, the pressure building too fast, filling me up with so wild intensity that I have to use my free hand to hold onto his shoulder to keep me from flying out into space.

  He uses one hand to hold my head steady as he kisses me hard and deep with teeth and tongue, the intensity of the kiss mimicking our fucking, and it’s almost too much. I’m overwhelmed by sensations, and yet I want more. I want it all. All of Tony. Everything he’s willing to give.

  It’s intense. Scary even, and yet I already cherish this connection. I already fear what will happen when we leave this island, because I don’t want this to end. I don’t want us to end.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are right now. Your body flushed, your mouth open. You’re so close to coming, all I want to do is watch you.”

  His words tease me in delicious ways. He makes me feel beautiful, and I moan as my body tightens. I feel my pussy clench hard around him as I’ll never let go, as if my body is trying to time it so that we come together, as if it’s absolutely imperative that we do.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “Please what?”

  But I can’t answer that because I don’t know. All I can think of is everything. And as I get closer and closer and closer to that inevitable explosion, he closes his mouth over mine in a kiss that is so wild and hard and possessive that I swear I would orgasm even if he wasn’t inside me, even if he wasn’t playing with my clit, even if this pressure wasn’t building and building. Because he’s fucking with me with his mouth and his cock and I’m about to go over the edge.

  And then, oh God, the world explodes, and I arch back, our bodies still connected, my eyes wide open, as I look at the stars and wonder if I really and truly reached them.

  “Wow,” I say as I lay back onto the water, his splayed hands keeping me afloat. “We may have to stay here all night. I’m not sure I can move.”

  “If you can’t, I’ll carry you.”

  I manage to lift my head enough to see him in the dark. “You really do have stamina.”

  He laughs. “For you? I have a never-ending well of energy.”

  I make a contented noise that shifts to a startled oh as he gently pulls me closer, then settles me on his lap. The fingers of one hand are twined in my hair, and he pulls me close, kissing me deeply. “I don’t know if it’s you or this island, but I can’t seem to get my fill of you.”

  I want to tell him I feel the same, but his words make me feel antsy. As if he’s talking about more than sex. As if this thing between us is real and not just part of a lust-filled island mission.

  So I push down what I’m actually feeling and instead brush a kiss over his lips as I whisper, “This evening has been very, very hot and very, very strange.”

  “Has it?” He runs his hands up my body to cup my breasts. “I have no interest in sharing you all of the time, but I’ll confess to having a good time. Even if under false pretenses. And I definitely liked the way the evening progressed after Tracy Ann left.”

  “Me, too,” I admit.

  “And I liked watching you kiss her. You seemed to like it, too.”

  I bend forward to whisper in his ear. “I’ll tell you a secret — I like pussy, too. Does that bother you?” I’ve been with guys who were disgusted by the idea of two women together and guys who dreamed of watching, as if the thought of watching me with another woman would be his own personal live-action porn channel. I didn’t think Tony had that voyeuristic bent—he seemed an all-in participant. But we’re both playing a role on this island, and I realize I’m holding my breath,
hoping that he’s not freaked out by the fact that I’m bi.

  His hands are roaming all over me, as if he can’t get enough of the feel of my skin against his. “So long as you like my equipment as well,” he says, taking my hand and cupping his cock, “I don’t have a problem with that at all.”

  He’s slowly stroking, moving my hand up and down beneath the water. “I like it,” I say, my voice heavy with desire all over again, as if I really, truly cannot get my fill of this man.

  I whimper, then shift my position, so that instead of straddling both his legs, I’m only straddling one—which means I can grind against his leg in time with the movement of our hands. “I like it very much.”

  I hook my free arm around his neck, then bend closer to whisper in his ear, surprising myself when I confess, “I didn’t like you touching another woman.”

  “Didn’t you?” The surprise in his voice seems genuine. “It didn’t turn you on?”

  “It did,” I admit. “But I still didn’t like it. It’s just that…”

  I trail off. I don’t want to voice my jealousy. Jealousy means I’m invested. And I know better than to get invested with a partner on a mission. Or ever, for that matter.

  I like Tony. I do. We’re ridiculously compatible in bed. He’s smart. He’s competent. He makes me laugh and God knows he makes me come. But we’re at a sex resort. What’s not to like? It’s not as if we’re going to go back to LA and start playing house.

  “Are you going to sign on to work for Stark Security?” I hear myself asking.

  He frowns, probably confused by my left turn away from the topic of sex. “I’m thinking about it,” he admits. “I’m focused on taking down The Serpent. Hell, I’ve been focused on that for an eternity. And if—no, when—I do…” He shrugs, then continues, “Well, a lot of stuff I’ve been avoiding or putting off opens up.”

  “Like a real job?”

  “Real job. Real life. I’ve been a nomad. I like the idea of roots.”

  He looks at me as he says it, and I feel that quickening inside me again. I don’t want to fall for him. Friends, family, love — all of that makes you vulnerable. Eliza’s already my weak spot. I know that, but I deal with it because she’s worth it.

  But I’m not sure I can handle another weakness.

  At the same time, I’m not sure I have a choice. Because whether I want him to or not, there’s no denying that this man is growing on me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Did I lose you?” Tony asks gently, bringing me back from my thoughts.

  I shake my head. “No, no. Sorry.” I flash an embarrassed smile. “It’s just what you said. Roots can be good, you know. Trust me. I went a long time without having any.”

  His eyes are warm and full of compassion. “Why? What happened to you when—never mind.”

  He cuts the question off sharply, and for a moment I don’t understand his hesitation. Then I remember I bit his head off when I’d mentioned turning tricks.

  “No, it’s okay.” I draw a breath, then say the most important part. “I don’t mind talking about it now.” What I don’t tell him is that I actively want to tell him. I want to know him better. And I want him to know me, too. “Bottom line is that I had a shit childhood, a scary adolescence, and nomadic, semi-solitary adulthood. Then it got better.”

  That, of course, is the top of the mountain description, and I study his face, trying to see if he really wants to know more. I don’t have to guess, though, because he takes my hand. “Tell me,” he says. He doesn’t ask if I want to talk about it. Doesn’t say I can vent to him if I want. Instead, he says, “tell me,” in a voice that makes it clear that not only is he curious, but he cares.

  “Start with your childhood,” he urges. “I have a feeling yours wasn’t any better than mine. Honestly, I’m guessing that it was worse.”

  I feel tears prick my eyes and hope he doesn’t notice. I’m not a crier. I’ve been trained to hold in my emotions, to move past them and focus on the goal. But maybe right now, feeling that emotion should be my goal. Sharing what I went through with someone who understands but isn’t Eliza or some government shrink who’s analyzing me even as he has me hooked up to a polygraph.

  “Hey,” he says, moving his arms around my waist. “No pressure. I want to know, but only if you want to tell me.”

  “I do.” I release a weird-sounding laugh. “I think I really do.” Another breath, then, “Right. I—I barely remember my mother. I can remember her being pregnant. I was almost seven. I remember her reading to me, holding me, brushing my hair. And I remember coming into her bedroom to find her curled up in a corner, her arms around her belly crying. I only saw him hit her a couple of times, but I think that’s why I remember it so clearly, even though I was so little. Because I knew there was a baby inside her, and I was so, so scared that something would happen to my little sister.”

  I manage a little smile. “I knew it would be a sister. I was so certain, even though Mom didn’t know herself. Or maybe she did, but didn’t tell my father. He wanted a boy, of course.”

  “He sounds like a major son-of-a-bitch.”

  I feel my eyes go hard. “I’ve apprehended a lot of sick fucks over the years. And I’ve killed more than my share, too. Everyone was vile and dangerous and I don’t regret a single one of those jobs. But not one of them was as pathetic and horrible as my father. Not one.”

  “I believe you.” He moves one hand from my waist, then uses it to stroke my hair as he holds my gaze. “What happened when your sister was born?”

  “I remember being happy. She was so sweet and little, and my mom told me that I had to be sure to watch out for her because I was her big sister.” I have one hand on his shoulder, but I trail the fingers of my other through the water, watching the ripples. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but later, I thought it wasn’t just the typical big sister talk. You know, a don’t be jealous because she’s yours too kind of thing.”

  The sunlight is fast fading, but I can still see the way his face tightens and his throat moves as he swallows. “He killed her.”

  “Yes.” I close my eyes, gather myself, then try again. “He must have, but I don’t know for sure. She—she disappeared when Eliza was just a toddler. I don’t think she even remembers Mom. But he must have killed her. She wouldn’t have just left us to save herself.” I look at him hard, as if defying him to argue.

  “No. I don’t believe she would, either. She had to know how bad it would be for the two of you if she wasn’t there as a buffer.”

  One of the damn tears escapes and trickles down my face, my heart breaking with both the memories and from the simple fact that he gets it. It feels nice, and that’s not something I expected.

  It feels strange to be talking about my past since I so rarely do this. Why would I? It’s horrible and painful and I had to discuss it backwards and forwards to a million different shrinks and commanders after I was recruited into the SOC. I hadn’t liked that feeling of being examined and judged. And once I wasn’t forced to talk about it, I never did again. Not even to the people I was close with. Not Lorenzo, my partner in the PI firm. Or even Cass, who knows about a lot of it from talking with Eliza, but never got a word of it from me.

  But with Tony, it doesn’t feel weird or painful to share. Maybe because I know he suffered, too. The loss of his mom. The vile and controlling nature of his dad.

  “Do you want to tell me what he did to you?”

  I shake my head. “Whatever you’re imagining,” I say, “it was worse.”

  “You protected Eliza.”

  I don’t even bother to brush away the tears as I nod. “I had to. I was all she had.”

  “And you love her.”

  I nod. Sometimes I forget how much that plays into it. When you grow up the way I did, with only survival on your mind, things like love don’t seem to matter. Or maybe they matter so much you don’t see them. They’re the fabric of your life. The thing that holds it all together. But e
ven then, love doesn’t feed you or clothe you or put a roof over your head. Not that I’d seen, any way.

  “You got away from him, though,” Tony says, obviously figuring out where my story is heading. “How?”

  “I killed him,” I say bluntly, my eyes on his, waiting to see him cringe. He doesn’t even flinch, and I feel my body relax even more.

  “How?”

  “I pushed him down the stairs. To be honest, we were just trying to escape. Our room was a basement storage closet. No windows. No nothing. But I told Eliza we were getting out, and I pushed him. I wasn’t trying to kill him—slowing him down and getting away were all I could really think about—but I was hoping he’d die. After all, death was the only thing that would be sure to work. Where we could be certain he didn’t catch us. And,” I add, not the least bit ashamed of the confession, “the idea of him living on—just existing after we ran—made me sick to my stomach. I wanted him dead. And after all the times he—“ My voice catches. “After everything he did to me from the time I was six until I was fifteen ... well, yeah. I wanted him to die.”

  “Fucking prick,” Tony says. “I hope he suffered, broken and in pain before he went to hell.”

  A sad smile flickers on my lips. “Yeah, me, too. But I don’t know. I never looked back. Never even checked the newspapers. I was fifteen years old and on the run with my little sister. We took a bus to Los Angeles, and we lived on the street.”

  “At fifteen. Christ.” He takes his hand from my hip and runs it though his hair. Immediately, I miss the contact. The connection. “Why didn’t you go to a shelter?”

  I shake my head. “They might have separated me and Eliza. I learned the truth years later—he died in that basement—but back then I didn’t know if he’d survived or not. If he had, he might find us if we were on the grid. If he was dead, someone might find out what I’d done.”

  He looks so profoundly sad I want to reach out and comfort him, and it warms me to know how much my story is affecting him. After a moment, he says flatly, “You turned tricks so the two of you could stay alive.”