The Enemy in My Bed

by LK Shaw

  “Everything all right?” he asks.

  I blink away the self-pity and meet his gaze. “It was good.”

  “I didn’t mean the food. You had this look on your face.”

  My cheeks heat. “I was just thinking about my sister. Missing her, I guess.”

  He sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “Tell me about her.”

  A fond smile crosses my face as I bring Anya to mind. “She’s like most teenage girls her age, I guess. Boy crazy. Really into fashion. Before she disappeared, she was a budding seamstress. She’s seen every episode of that reality television show featuring clothing designers who compete for a million dollars.” My breath catches. I’ll probably never see her again. “I try not to think about what she’s going through. If she’s scared. Hurt. Dead. She’s barely eighteen years old. She didn’t deserve this.”

  Wetness falls into my arm. I reach up and hastily swipe away the tears. I can’t start crying, because if I do, I may never stop. A warm hand covers mine, and I look up at Pierce.

  “I’m going to get her back for you,” he vows. There’s an expression of such determination on his face. A feeling sparks to life. It’s still only a tiny ember, one I’m afraid to nurture. It’s hope.

  I rise from my chair and crawl into Pierce’s lap, straddling his hips. His pupils flare and those brown eyes darken to match them in color. My arms circle his neck, and I press my lips to his. He opens for me and my tongue tentatively flicks against his. It doesn’t take a moment before his powerful hands grip my waist and he takes control.

  The kiss goes on and on until I pull back, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. I lean a little away from him, grasp the hem of my shirt, and pull it over my head. I drop it on the ground, and then my lips meet Pierce’s again. I rock my hips, grinding myself against him in invitation. One he doesn’t seem to be accepting.

  Undeterred, I move my mouth from his and place kisses along his jaw. My eyes meet his, and slowly I climb off him. I rearrange my shirt to resemble a small pillow and kneel on it. Pierce stares down at me through hooded eyes, and does nothing to stop my trembling fingers from moving to his waistband. I undo his pants and pull out his cock.

  Using the little experience I have, I tighten my grip and stroke him up and down a few times before finally lowering my head and taking him in my mouth. My moves are unpracticed, as I bob up and down his length, swallowing as much of it as I can. I raise my eyes to meet Pierce’s, trying to gauge his reaction. His features are tight, but the hand suddenly palming the back of my head makes me think he’s enjoying this. To my surprise, so am I.

  There’s a heaviness deep inside me, a throbbing pulse. I want to reach inside my shorts and touch myself. I don’t. Instead, I focus on Pierce’s pleasure. My mouth opens as wide as I can get it, and I press farther down his cock, trying to swallow more of him. He groans and hits the back of my throat, I cough and gag, pulling up a little. He’s so thick and long I’m not sure I can take more.

  Using my mouth and hand together, I suck and squeeze, gripping his shaft. Pierce tightens his fingers in my hair. I wait for him to start jerking my head down farther and faster, but he continues to let me set the rhythm. My movements grow a little faster and more coordinated.

  Saliva pools over my fist and drips over the sides to coat his entire length. My jaw grows tired, but still I suck until, finally, Pierce’s body stiffens and he groans out his release. His come fills my mouth, and I swallow as much as I can.

  A sense of satisfaction fills me that I was able to please him.

  There wasn’t anything else I could do to thank him for helping my sister except this.

  Chapter 18

  Pierce

  * * *

  Raised voices reach me through the front door of the house. I quickly unlock it and push the thing open hard enough that it crashes against the wall, bouncing back toward me. I barrel forward into the living room. The yelling comes to an abrupt halt, as do I.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to speak to your mother?” The woman in question sniffs with disdain.

  Sofia De Luca is dressed in her usual pristine white pantsuit, without a single wrinkle, and matching heels. She’s covered in diamonds from the gaudy, shoulder-length dangling earrings to six of her ten fingers. The sneer on her face as she stares down her nose at me completes the outfit.

  “You only seem to remember you’re a mother when it’s convenient for you.” I glance at Francesca, who’s beet-red with rage, and whose eyes sparkle with unshed tears, whether from anger or pain. With the viper in front of me, it could be either. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  Why the hell had Chess let her in?

  “I heard that gutter trash was getting out of the hospital soon, and I wanted to make sure Francesca stayed away from him. He needs to stop sniffing around her.”

  My sister growls. “Don’t you dare talk about Gio like that.”

  “I can speak about him any way I wish. That boy is trash, and will remain trash, no matter how far he tries to reach,” my mother says.

  My fists clench at my side. “Don’t act like you suddenly care who your daughter is friends with. And if you continue to speak ill of Giovanni in front of Francesca, then I will personally throw you out of here. This is my house, and you know you’re not welcome here.”

  She stares at me with the cold eyes I inherited from her. “You haven’t changed a bit while you were gone. Don’t think because Emilio is now head of this organization that it gives you some type of power. You’re still that weak little boy. You always will be. Threatening your own mother only proves it.”

  With those words she strides out the door with her nose in the air. If she were less dignified, she would probably slam it behind her. But Sofia De Luca is nothing if not the façade of class she presents to the world.

  “She’s wrong, you know. God, I hate her,” she spits.

  Francesca’s heated words make me turn back to her. If anyone has a right to their hatred, it’s us.

  “She’s not worth wasting the emotion on,” I shake my head. “Why did you let her in? You know how she is.”

  My sister drops onto the couch with a sigh. “Do you ever think people can change? Or at least, you wish they would?”

  “No,” I tell her. “People are who they are. They might pretend to be someone else, but deep down, they’re always going to be exactly who and what they’ve always been.”

  It’s true. No matter the image I present, the minute I’m in my mother’s presence, I revert back to that weak little boy she claims me to be. The one who cares too much. The one who’s too emotional. I shake off the memories to find Francesca looking at me.

  “That’s really sad, if you actually believe that.” She glances toward the door and back to me. “You’re right, though. I don’t think Mother will ever change, and I need to accept that fact.”

  It’s a tough lesson, and I hate that my sister is learning it. “How’s Gio doing, anyway?” I change the subject.

  “He’s being the worst patient ever. Demanding. Cranky. I’m sure the nurses are ready for him to be discharged. He told me he’s leaving tomorrow, whether the doctor says he can or not.”

  I can’t blame the guy. Hospitals are shitty places to be. “I’m glad he’s going to be all right.”

  Francesca would have been devastated otherwise. I take a seat next to her and reach for her hand. I clear my throat. Apologizing doesn’t come easy to me. Not to any of the men in our family. “I’m sorry about what happened the other day. Outside Gio’s room. I never should have told Jacob without your permission.”

  “No, I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.” She sighs. “Do you ever forget that something even happened to you?”

  “Sometimes,” I say truthfully. Although, there’s more times than not that I wish I could forget certain things.

  “That was one of those things. It’s like it happened to someone else. But
then, to hear you talking about it? It just brought back all those memories and overwhelmed me.”

  I tip her chin up. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Francesca scoots close and lays her head against my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says, then raises her head to look at me after a moment. “Do you ever get lonely?”

  An immediate denial rises to my lips, but something holds me back. My mother’s visit shook me more than I’d like to admit. I’ve gone nearly seven years without seeing that vicious woman. I’ve spent three times that long squashing any emotion that dares try to show itself. Aside from the anger. Holding onto it for this long has been exhausting. I’ve never admitted that to myself before.

  “Sometimes,” I finally confess.

  Francesca picks up my hand and laces her fingers through mine, staring at their joining. “Me too. But I’m scared. What if I can never be normal enough to have a relationship? To get married? To have a baby?”

  “You are normal. Don’t let mother, or anyone else for that matter, make you think you aren’t. There is nothing wrong with you, Chess.” I gently squeeze her hand. “I’m not saying that having those things is going to be easy, but you are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. If you want those things to happen, they will. It may just take time and someone special who is willing to let you have it.”

  “Do you think,”—she hesitates for several seconds—“Do you think Giovanni is special?”

  “I think only you can answer that question,” I tell her.

  “What about you? Don’t you want to find someone special? I’m not talking about Gianna, either.” She wrinkles her nose in clear distaste.

  An image of too-big blue eyes and a mop of short blonde hair flashes inside my head. I shift on the couch. “I don’t know. Maybe someday. When I’m old and gray and walking with a cane, most likely.”

  I say it to try and make Francesca smile, but instead she glances up at me with our father’s warm and caring eyes and a serious expression on her face. “You deserve to not be lonely. I want you to find a woman who can look beyond that tough guy act you present to the outside world. A woman who sees you, all of you, the good parts and the bad, and still can’t stop herself from loving you. That’s what I want for you.”

  We remain sitting quietly, the silence comfortable between us. I can’t get Francesca’s words out of my head though. She’s made me think about my life, and what I want out of it. Hours later, long after my sister has gone to bed, I’m still thinking about it.

  Chapter 19

  Mila

  * * *

  “Who’s Anya?” The voice comes from out of the dark.

  I let loose a muffled scream and roll to my side with a jolt, nearly falling off the edge before catching myself. My heart beats wildly in my chest. A dark shadow shifts, and then a soft light flares to life, bringing with it the man seated in the bedside chair.

  I sit up and scoot to the head of the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking the fabric around my waist.

  “Anya?” Pierce asks again. “You’ve cried out for her in your sleep several times. Who is she?”

  If his tone had been demanding, I might refuse to answer, but there is only curiosity.

  “My little sister,” I finally reply.

  “The one Mikhail sold?”

  “Yes.”

  He sits there, silent, the only movement is the muscles around his jaw as though he clenches his teeth. Even Pierce’s expression has been wiped clear. I can’t read him any longer. My trembling slows until, at last, it disappears. The quiet between us grows, as does my anxiousness. Will he fuck me again? He hasn’t since that day in the living room. Do I want him to?

  Before I can answer the question, he rises from the chair, the motion fluid and unhurried. In two steps he’s closed the distance between us and stands towering over me. His face is hidden in shadows, but I’ve memorized every feature, from the icy brown eyes that don’t always seem so cold, to the full lips I shouldn’t enjoy the taste of but do.

  Some compulsion makes me let the sheet go. I lean up and make my way to my knees until I’m kneeling directly in front of him. With the closeness, I can make out his eyes. They’re locked onto me with an almost daring heat. As though they belong to someone else, I lift my arms and slip the top button of his shirt through the hole. Then another. And another, until the soft cotton gapes open, exposing the colorful ink decorating the right side of his chest.

  I study each and every line, tracing them with my eyes. Scars only add to the picture painted on the canvas of his skin. My gaze flicks to the left side and latches onto a single tattoo over where his heart lies. It’s a beautifully delicate crown, almost in complete contrast to the harsh red-eyed skull that graces his throat. I reach out to trace the pattern, but Pierce grabs my wrist before my fingers can make contact.

  “Don’t touch that one,” he says.

  I swallow and dip my head in a shallow nod. He releases his hold and my arm hovers in the air awkwardly. It clearly holds some special meaning and my caress will sully it. Shaking off the unexpected hurt, I return to undressing him as though nothing of significance just occurred. His shirt glides over his shoulders with a simple push. I drag the sleeves down his arms and let it fall to the floor behind him.

  Next comes his pants, the muscles of his abdomen twitching with each stroke of my fingers across them. The fabric drops, and he steps out of each leg, kicking them slightly off to the side. I haven’t questioned him when he toes off his shoes at the door and leaves them there, but I find his habit interesting. He reaches down and removes his socks.

  Before I can take a breath, his large hand cradles the back of my head, and he lowers his mouth to mine, pushing his way past my lips to lash his tongue against mine. My hands go to his shoulders to steady myself. The heat from his skin sears mine and tingles race up my arms and down my chest to settle deep inside my belly. It happens each time he touches me.

  His kiss surprises me. It’s an intimacy I would never suspect from someone like him. Especially since he regards me as an enemy. I should put a stop to it myself. Or at least try. But it’s the first time someone has treated me this gently. He’s just using me. I’m not stupid, but I can’t seem to stop myself from enjoying it. For as long as it lasts, anyway.

  Pierce palms my breast, and I forget about everything except his touch and the pleasure he gives. He deepens the kiss and a moan quickly turns to a gasp from the pinch of pain in my nipple between his fingers. I press myself harder against his hand.

  He takes pity on me and yanks my oversized tee up and over my head. Then his lips return to mine, and he slides my panties down. Before I can catch my breath, he has me on my back, yanking the cotton off my legs. Pleasure pours through me at the feel of his tongue at my core. Pierce laps up the wetness spilling from me, drinking it as though he can’t quench his thirst.

  Calloused fingers trace my slit and add to the sensation, and I buck my hips up, trying to get more. A single digit slides, far too slowly, inside, pumping gently in and out. Then a second one joins the first, and the pressure increases. He lashes at my clit, soothing the slight sting with a gentle swipe.

  The friction of his tongue isn’t enough to push me over the edge. It’s merely enough to tease and torment. I’m completely under his control. The tension builds, and just as it crests, he pulls back. I whimper.

  “Please—” I bite my tongue.

  He stares up at me from between my legs with an inscrutable expression. Our eyes lock. Am I imagining the cold, ice-like eyes of his have thawed in the slightest? He blinks and the thought is gone as he dips his head again and returns to his feast. In seconds, my arousal ramps up, and he takes pity on me. Tingles shoot from every nerve ending in my clit, and as he thrusts his fingers back inside me, my whole body shudders with its release.

  He bites down on my engorged flesh, and I scream from the pain-pleasure. My fingers clutch
his head to me. He doesn’t relent. Just continues to wring every ounce of pleasure he can, until the pain overrides the pleasure, and I can’t take the sensation anymore. Still, he doesn’t stop. He continues lashing at my sensitive clit, and curls his fingers inside me. More spasms shake my body until I collapse in an exhausted heap.

  Pierce isn’t finished with me, though. His warm lips glide up my body until he reaches my mouth. I taste myself on his lips. It’s slightly sweet. I’m caged in, his forearms on either side of my head. His cock rests against my pussy, throbbing with its need. He rocks his hips against mine and captures my gasp. There’s pressure, and I’m full of him. His thickness stretches me as he settles himself as deep as he can go.

  The sensations he evokes are like nothing I’ve felt. Against my will, tears threaten to well in my eyes. I try to blink them back, but one spills out of the corner. Pierce raises his head and looks down at me. Several more leak out and disappear into my hair and the pillow beneath me. He lowers his head and catches the salty wetness with his tongue.

  He begins to move, shallow thrusts at first. The friction against my sensitive clit is painful, but he doesn’t stop. Harder and faster he pistons in and out, going deeper each time. My nails dig into his shoulders as the hurt is almost more than I can take. I close my eyes against it.

  “Look at me.” Pierce’s command is deep and guttural.

  My eyes fly open. Our gazes latch together. This time, there is no mistaking the heat burning from his irises. They’ve turned almost the color of pitch. Emotions pass between us.

  Desire.

  Lust.

  There’s no holding back the desire he makes me feel. Pierce knows exactly how to touch me. To caress me. I’m a captive to the lust he inspires. Is the pain he causes my punishment for making him feel the same things I do?

  Tension builds, and the sweet agony transitions to bitter pleasure with each upward motion of his pelvis rocking against me until I can’t hold back. Another orgasm rips through me. On its heels, Pierce’s groan echoes in my ears as he holds himself still, spilling inside my body. He didn’t put on a condom.