British Bad Boys: Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  He looked at his nails, completely unconcerned about my distress. “I don’t see the problem, love. Most girls would love to have my name on their body.”

  I trembled with banked anger. “The problem is you’re Dax and I’m me! We don’t go together.”

  His face darkened, and I almost thought I saw hurt there. No, that couldn’t be right.

  His chest swelled as he took a breath. “Fine. Tell them you were drunk and it was an impulse. That’d be the truth, right?” He pivoted away from me, strode over to the window, and pulled the blinds open. I blinked as he dropped down and started doing push-ups, his clipped voice counting out a fast one hundred.

  Of course, I watched. Because I’m clearly still drunk. Not really, but I felt woozy just being naked and this close to him.

  With his sculpted muscles executing an effortless athleticism, he rose up and down from the floor, the tendons in his arms and shoulders bulging.

  I tore my eyes away.

  I should be mad at him for acting so surly—but I wasn’t. Maybe it was because his one-eyed monster was rock hard and seemed to be looking right at me.

  He stood back up, and then as if he’d had enough of me, he stalked into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Well.

  His moodiness was worse than a teenage girl on her period, but right now I couldn’t worry about him.

  I needed clothes!

  Jumping out of bed, I ran to the closet and pulled out a white peasant top with lace at the hem and a pair of cropped red pencil pants. Because of the tattoo, I went braless.

  Next stop was the mirror. I let out a gasp. Holy morning of shame, my hair was a bush on one side and flat on the other. Globs of leftover mascara and black eyeliner smudged the skin under my eyes. Groaning, I pulled a brush out of my make-up bag and went to work on the tangles.

  Crap!

  I should have never drunk tequila!

  I should have never gotten a tattoo!

  But at least you didn’t have unprotected sex!

  I snorted.

  My phone rang. Rummaging through the mess I’d dumped out on the bed from my bag, I snatched it up and answered.

  “What?” I bit out.

  “Remington?” A familiar male voice came through the speaker.

  The room spun. Only one person used my God-given name.

  “Hartford?” My hand clutched the phone like a lifeline.

  A beat of silence. “Yeah,” his deep voice said, and I heard flapping in the background as if he were outside and it was windy. I imagined him in Raleigh, finishing up his morning run and walking back to the apartment.

  Leftover anger bubbled to the surface, but I kept my voice even. “What do you want?”

  “To see you.” A long sigh. “Look . . . I’m sorry.”

  Elation surged. My eyes closed in relief.

  He wanted to see me. He was sorry.

  I bit my lip to keep a shrill laugh from escaping.

  “Remington? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” I paused. “What—what are you sorry for?”

  “I don’t know. Everything, I guess.”

  He didn’t know?

  My free hand gripped the edge of the nightstand.

  “Remington? Are you there?”

  I inhaled a deep breath. “I’m here. Are—are you sorry for the wedding dress I’ll never wear? For the gifts I returned? The emails and phone calls I had to make? For hurting me?”

  “Remington—”

  “You know what? Stay on your break. Tell your study buddy I said hello, and fuck off.” I hit the end button.

  Tears threatened my eyes and I pushed them down. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “Remi?” Dax had come out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle. His hair was wet from a shower and rivulets of water traced down his chest to his hips. His forehead furrowed as he raked his eyes over me. There must have been something telling in my expression because in three quick strides he stood in front of me. “Who was on the phone?”

  I rubbed my face. “Hartford,” I croaked, trying not to break.

  He exhaled, sat down on the bed next to me, and gave me a gentle shoulder hug. “Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? I know I joke around a lot, but people tell me I’m good to talk to.”

  I looked at the phone and then back at him. I did want to talk, and somehow I knew Dax would keep whatever I said between us. “Our relationship was so easy, you know? He never cheated or even glanced at another girl, and I’m sure he could have. He wanted me, and I thought he wanted me forever, but . . .” I twisted my wrist, aching for my bracelet. “It’s just . . . after my dad died, I wanted someone like him. I even had a list. I wanted someone kind. Responsible. Smart. Someone who’d help me take care of Malcolm someday and wouldn’t mind that he was part of the package. But sometimes . . . I think I miss the idea of Hartford more than him.”

  He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Do you love Hartford?”

  I closed my eyes. “I do, but we were so perfect, and maybe this is weird, but part of me wonders if maybe true love or soul-mate love isn’t perfect or easy at all, but dirty and hard and crazy.” I sucked in air. “I don’t know. I’m confused and angry—yet I want to see him.”

  He tilted my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. Compassion mixed with something else I couldn’t define—sadness?—crossed his face. “I’m here for you, whatever you need. I—I’ve never been in love, but I can see you’re hurting, and it makes me . . .” He stopped.

  “What?” I asked.

  He exhaled, his face tight. “I just don’t like seeing you upset. If he were here right now, I’d beat the bloody shit out him.”

  I studied him, taking in the banked anger he was obviously keeping on a leash for my benefit. I pushed out a smile. “I believe you, and thank you for the sentiment, but he’s a battle I need to fight on my own.”

  He reached over and touched the hair tie that was still on my finger. “You’re the kind of girl who will never be alone for long. You’re too beautiful and the best kisser I know.”

  “I’m not beautiful.”

  “Indeed, you are.” His voice rang with sincerity. “I thought so the moment you walked into my Tau party with your sweater all buttoned up. There’s something about you I don’t see in other girls.”

  My mouth parted. “Like what?”

  “Balls. You lost your dad, and somehow, it made you stronger.”

  Something inside me cracked—or shifted. I looked into his stormy gray eyes and saw understanding staring back at me. And desire.

  Maybe it was finally talking to Hartford after weeks of silence, maybe it was the fact I had another man’s name on my heart, or maybe it was simply the fact that he got me.

  But suddenly I wanted to forget about Hartford, and the only way to do that was to have throw-down hard sex with the one guy I’d never been able to get out of my head.

  12

  I stood from the bed and faced him, causing him to start at my abrupt movement. “You have too many clothes on,” I said and pulled the towel off from around his hips.

  He inhaled as I stared down at him, his erect cock like a lead pipe as it rested on his thigh. Hard. Thick.

  I lifted my eyes to meet his molten gaze. His chest rose. Up. Down. Lust shot through me. “You’ve been hard for me all morning.”

  “Remi?” he breathed, biting his lip. “Don’t—”

  I put my hands over his mouth and went to my knees in front of him. “Shhh. I—I just want to . . .” I swallowed, struggling to find the words. “I—I want you to rip me apart then stitch me back together.”

  He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Think hard about this, Remi, because I can’t tell you no.”

  “I have. A million times.”

  I traced my hand down his chest slowly, easing over his defined pecs and abs. His body was perfection, tan and smooth.

  He groaned at my touch, his head going back, his entire
body tightening in anticipation of what he could clearly read in my eyes. I wanted him. I wanted him fiercely, with the kind of passion I believed few people ever experienced.

  I bent over, took him in my mouth and sucked, sliding my tongue over his long shaft from base to tip. My hand snaked around his hardness and tugged as I devoured him.

  “Fucckkk.” His hands went to my hair and clutched.

  I pumped his velvet skin as I took as much of him as I could.

  He breathed my name and maneuvered my head, silently telling me what he wanted.

  But I already knew. I’d never forgotten.

  My mouth explored him, tasted him, finding places I remembered, mapping out new ones.

  He tried to pull me up. “Remi,” he said hoarsely.

  I raised my face to him. “You want me to stop?”

  His chest rose. “No. I—I can’t breathe. I—what are you doing to me?”

  “What I’ve wanted since the night I kissed you at Masquerade.”

  He slid his thumb across my lips. “This will change things. I don’t know how it will end. I can’t promise you anything. This is all I can give you.”

  I nodded.

  I wanted the forbidden fruit, even if it was for just one time.

  He pulled me to my feet, cupped my face. “But I don’t want you on your knees for me—not this time. I want you.”

  Getting his meaning, I stood up, unzipped my pants and let them fall to the floor. With shaky hands, I lifted my blouse over my head. My panties were next as I slipped them past my ankles and tossed them on the floor. With his eyes burning into my skin, I walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out my strand of pearls and looped them around my neck. Long and creamy, they hung past the V between my breasts.

  “You like?” I asked softly, turning to face him as I threaded them through my fingers.

  He came toward me, a majestic male, his heated gaze never leaving mine. “I do.”

  “Want me to put one of my little cardigans on?” I smiled impishly.

  His eyes went low and heavy. “No. I want you just like that.”

  “Wait,” I said.

  He halted, teeth snapping together. “Don’t tease me.”

  “I’m not. It’s just . . . the contract. Let’s say no kissing on the mouth—and we can still be friends, right?” I paused, nibbling on my bottom lip. “Your friendship is important to me, Dax.”

  He’d reached me by then, and his hand curled around my neck, careful of the bruises there. “You could say anything right now and I’d agree to it.” Grazing his nose up my neck to my ear, he whispered, “And you better hang on the first time.”

  My body clenched at first time.

  He eased between my legs and hoisted me up by my bottom to straddle him, biceps bulging as his hands palmed my ass. My limbs wrapped around his hips as he pivoted us around and eased me down on the edge of the bed.

  He pushed my arms out to their sides and pinned them there gently but with the touch of a warrior. My chest rose. Waiting. Anticipating him.

  “You like control?” I whispered, angling my chin up at him, spurring him on with a defiant look, knowing he liked the resistance.

  “You complaining?” His eyes caressed my lips and I bit down with my top teeth, knowing his fascination with them.

  “Never.”

  As he lowered his head toward mine, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he veered down, capturing my nipple with his mouth.

  One touch and I yelled out, my body arching up to him. Yes!

  His tongue toyed with my breasts, moving from one to the other, even as his hands kept mine imprisoned. In the back of my mind, I told myself that this had always been inevitable since the moment we’d kissed at the club. This was fate, weaving her tapestry, making us part of her intricate plan.

  Being careful of my tattoo, he swept his jaw across my chest to my hipbone, his nose running over every inch. Just when I thought he’d forgotten my breasts, he came back and licked. Bit. Nibbled. Teased.

  I groaned, muttering. This was torture.

  I wanted it fast. Hard. And then I wanted it again. And again.

  “Say my name,” he said, his mouth on my shoulder, kissing down my arm, sending heated tingles everywhere.

  “Dax, Dax, Dax.”

  He grunted, his lips on my wrist, kissing the place where my bracelet had been. Turning my head, I watched him kiss my palm softly.

  No, wait.

  I struggled to get out of his grasp, and his eyes found mine.

  “Don’t be . . . don’t be sweet,” I said.

  He closed his eyes, as if to shield something. Nodded. “Right.”

  He let my arms go and they clawed at him, pulling him down and crushing our bodies together. Nails raked down his back. I massaged the muscles that had grown since I’d last touched him like this.

  He went to his knees, placed my legs over his shoulder, and kissed down my chest. As sunlight streamed in the room, he laved my skin with his tongue, eyes watching my face.

  He tongued my hip, outlining my birthmark and kissing it. I screamed when he finally put his mouth on my core, my body bucking. Wet kisses and long licks. Soft touches. Pulsing over my skin. I moaned loudly, embarrassing myself. I stifled my voice with my fist.

  Warmth built in my spine, sending electricity through every atom. Goosebumps rose. The hair on the back of my neck vibrated as I rushed to the edge of something wonderful.

  “Say my name when you hit it.” His voice was dark, almost tortured, and I sensed the control he was keeping.

  His finger slipped inside, sliding, curling over the bundle of nerves in my G-spot. He sucked my clit, leaving no part of me untouched, and I rose up to watch him, my heart in my throat, as his hand grabbed my hip to get me closer.

  Closer. Closer.

  His eyes locked with mine and . . .

  Boom. Sparks flew in a million directions when I came, gasping his name, my body clamping around his fingers.

  Out of nowhere, unshed tears burned in my throat, regret and love lust fighting in my head.

  Why had he never wanted me the way I’d wanted him? When we had this?

  It wasn’t just sex between us. I knew it, and I suspected he did too.

  But it wasn’t enough for him to pick me.

  Pushing those intruding thoughts away, I lay back, my body spent and legs quivering.

  He stood, broad shoulders heaving, his expression off. A pulse throbbed at his temple. He looked dangerous. Bitter. And hot as hell.

  Together we were a fucking mess of feelings.

  He stalked over to his jeans on the floor, picked out his wallet, and pulled out a square package. Snapping it open with his teeth, he got the condom out and slid it on his straining length.

  I groaned, desire roaring back. Flooding me.

  He strode back to me. Silent.

  Yet saying everything with his hungry eyes.

  “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any girl in my entire life,” he said harshly, looking down at me on the bed.

  “You sound angry about it,” I said as I rose up to my knees and touched his shoulder, tracing down his chest, passing my name over his heart.

  He shuddered, his entire body vibrating. “Remi. It’s been so long . . .”

  Since he’d had sex? Or since he’d had me?

  I kissed his nipple and sucked hard, my hand moving to his shaft. He grunted and tossed his head back, maneuvering to give me a better grasp. I stroked him, pumping. I loved seeing him like this. He was a total Tau, a conqueror, but I could make him weak at my touch. Ready to break at any moment.

  Need clawed at me, scratching to get out. “I want to see you come undone for me,” I said.

  His eyes zoomed in on me. “Tell me something, do I make you come harder than Hartford?”

  I didn’t answer, but stroked my nose up his neck. I whispered in his ear, “Get behind me.”

  Without uttering a word, he pushed me down on the bed, flipped me over like a r
agdoll and raised my hips up.

  Standing at the foot of the bed, his hands traced down my back. Soft.

  His length teased my entrance, dipping in the wetness—until he was gone.

  “No,” he growled and flipped me back over, positioning himself between my legs. “I want to see your face.”

  Yes. My heart hammered in my chest. Anything he wanted. Anything.

  He nudged inside me a few inches then slid back out. “Remi,” he gasped. His thumb caressed my lips, and I bit his finger then kissed it gently.

  He bent over me, a dark and pained look on his face as he slid out and then back, going deeper each time, getting me used to his thickness. I squirmed, my body adjusting to the tight fit. Working up to a slow pace, he finally hit all the way home, and I moaned.

  There. Yes!

  “More,” I begged, rotating my hips toward him, but he ignored me, using that torturous slow pace. He picked up the pearls, wrapped them around his hand, and tugged, forcing me to raise my chest to his so they didn’t break. He buried his face in my neck as my hands dug into his back.

  “I want to be so deep inside you that nothing will ever tear us apart,” he said.

  I grabbed his ass and pushed him further inside me.

  “Remi, please, I’m going to break soon,” he called, his voice torn to pieces.

  “Me too.”

  A warm tongue ran up my neck as he pumped me hard and sure, yet with a carefulness I didn’t understand. He twisted his hips for a new position to go deeper, grinding, and I writhed underneath him, feeling the summit ahead.

  I was close, so close.

  His fingers strummed my nub, rubbing the wetness around. Teasing me. He wore me out, sweat dripping from his face to mine and he owned my body, making it do whatever he wanted. He was a drug; his body the antidote to all the sadness I’d suffered.

  He stared down at me, his eyes dark as he opened his mouth to say something, but then didn’t.

  Fire built once again, and I vibrated, grabbing the sheets and riding out the orgasm as my muscles spasmed around him. Yes!

  He froze, watching me undulate around him. My throat clogged at the torment on his face. So much emotion—from both of us—yet I couldn’t say a damn word.

  Then, as if he’d flipped a switch and was done being gentle, he bent my knees to my chest and pushed my legs together. My body tightened, ready for what came next. He wanted to put his stamp on me—own me. He slammed into me, pounding, sliding all the way out and then ramming home. We scooted to the headboard. The clock fell off the nightstand. The lamp teetered as he worked me to the corner, his body pushing me higher and higher.