by Snow, Nicole
Not when we're in the heat of it, racing each other to find out who burns down first.
Not when I'm buried to the hilt, mastering every inch of her, knowing I'll die before I ever let this pussy belong to anybody else.
Not when I've found the first woman in my life who makes me feel more alive than I did when I was eighteen years old.
Not when it's Olivia Holly I'm fucking.
And Olivia Holly's the only one worthy of pulling the come from my balls until I draw my last breath.
“C'mon, Liv. Holy fuck,” I snarl a minute later, never giving her a chance to come down, driving down into her until she's sandwiched between my weight and the mattress.
Something just sets her off again.
Something just ignites in my skull.
Something snaps.
My own release hits so hard I don't see it coming. My vision blurs, everything goes white, and then I'm just this frenzied pump of hips, this human jackhammer, desperate to break and ruin us both by spilling myself so deep in her sweet cunt I never come home.
Holy fucking hell!
The roar in my head fades into the stream of growls leaving my throat.
Then it's all just an animal blur.
Her pussy milking my cock like a vise.
My balls pumping, churning, flaming, urging me on.
Deeper, deeper, goddamned deeper.
Little Liv, throwing her hair back when ecstasy peaks, just a glorious mess of honey sweet fuckery I want to take all over again – even though I'm barely halfway through coming.
My dick doing things it's never done to my head before. Never, ever, as long as I've lived.
There's sex with the women I've had in my life before.
And then there's sex with Liv, this small, unassuming fae thing, who makes up for her size with every dirty, mad thing she does to me.
I'm still trembling, every muscle firing on its own, when I'm able to see straight again.
Then I pull out, admiring the mess I've left that steams out of her, flopping down on the mattress and bringing her into my arms.
We kiss real soft, real slow, too lost for words.
We kiss because we're lost in something neither one of us dares say out loud.
We kiss like we're gone, because holy hell, we are.
And fuck if either one of us can stop.
Before the alarm on my phone goes off as a reminder to grab Em, she's got her little fingers wrapped around my slick, throbbing dick again. And I'm rolling her over as I bite her bottom lip, ready to spend the next half hour mating this beautiful woman to my flesh.
* * *
I can’t let myself forget this isn’t a vacation.
I spend a few days sorting through more of the backlogged documents recovered from Crown Security, then settle into doing repairs around the house. There's a definite bite in the morning air now, a faint hint of winter approaching.
Even if Em’s grandparents keep this place in pretty decent shape, things still happen, and we’re here nearly a week when I realize the weather stripping on the windows is dry rotting.
It happens with the mountain weather, always freezing and defrosting over time.
We might be here through the winter, so I take the hike back down the slope to the car and drive into town to the hardware store in Yosemite. I pick up some groceries while I’m there, and take the time to get the lay of the land now that I’m looking around by daylight. Yosemite’s a tourist town, so expecting anyone to notice strange activity or people who shouldn’t be here isn't something that’s going to happen.
But people still stick out like sore thumbs when they’re here with ulterior motives. People move in patterns, and tourists have completely different patterns from the scum trying to hunt down the woman I need to protect with everything in me.
No one in Yosemite sets off alarms, at least.
When I pull into the parking lot down the road from the trail, though, I can’t help but tense.
There are two new cars in the lot.
One's a battered Honda with California plates, the other a sleek black town car with Washington plates. Rich people vacation out here all the time, so it’s probably nothing. Still...
I’m quick on the trail, pushing myself despite the thin high-altitude air, sucking in sharp breaths as I climb quickly to the house. Something doesn’t feel right.
No one outside. Everything looks peaceful, the curtains open to let the natural light in, but as I approach the door, I can already hear voices. Not Liv’s or Em’s, either.
Male.
No one sounds upset.
There’s laughter, and when I look through the window, I see Em sitting on the couch with a sandy head bowed near hers, Magic cards exchanging hands. Liv in the kitchen reaching into the fridge, and a man I don’t recognize at first sitting at a barstool in front of the kitchen island.
This is wrong. All fucking wrong.
I fit the key in the lock and shove the door open. Everyone pauses, looking up at me.
I know the kid on the couch. It’s Ryan, the instructor’s boy, and from the guilty look in Em’s eyes, I know exactly how he knew we were here.
And who brought him, when his father Mike watches me from the kitchen with his face frozen in a mask of nervous shame, beads of sweat brimming on his forehead.
I slump, closing my eyes and nudging the door closed behind me so I can set the bags down. “Emily.”
“It’s just Ryan, Dad!” she protests. “And his dad had to bring him!”
“I told you no visitors,” I say, shooting Liv a look.
She should've put them out before I even got here. She winces, mouthing I’ll explain later while I transfer my gaze to Ryan. He looks confused and a little scared, so I try to keep my voice gentle. “I’m sorry, son. This isn’t your fault, but you can't be here.”
“Can’t he stay?” Em pipes up. “He already knows where we are. You let me hang out with Juanita. What can it hurt?”
“Everything,” I say coldly, flicking my fingers to Mike. “You need to leave. I can’t explain why, not right now. Just take your son and go. It’s not safe for you to be here – either of you.”
Mike frets his fingers together nervously. “I, um...I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Can't? Who the hell does this guy think he is?
I don't understand what's going on here.
“Dad, come on!” Em protests. “You always ruin everything, just when I’m starting to make friends!”
I hate that I have to be Dad right now, and not her friend, but there are lives at stake, including hers.
“Watch your tone, young lady,” I warn. “You’re already in trouble. Don’t make it worse.” Then I turn that same tone on Mike, watching him steadily, while he shrinks further and further into himself. “What do you mean, ‘can’t?’”
Mike winces, staring down at his knees. Liv is watching intently now, an odd expression on her face, something mixed between resignation and dread. Like she knows what’s going on here, even if I don’t.
I get a clue pretty damned fast when Mike whispers, “Shit, I’d never have taken the money if I’d known. If I’d known you were in real, true danger. He was just...he was so insistent, and the rent on the studio's bankrupting us, and just...just!”
It takes everything in me not to pull this sputtering worm up by his collar and shake him until his neck snaps. I take a single step closer, but it’s enough to make him cringe and flatten himself back against the chair.
“Mike,” I say softly. “You want to be very clear on who ‘he’ is. Now.”
Mike opens his mouth, but before he can answer, a light, almost mockingly polite knock hits the door. Three quick raps and done.
I go still, looking over my shoulder. Nothing but a hint of a shadow visible under the door, no line of sight out the window.
Dropping my voice, I grind through my teeth, “Everyone in the bedroom. Now.”
Liv and Em immediately rush to comply, with Em dragging Ryan behind he
r. Mike starts to get up to follow them, but he stops when I plant a hand in the center of his chest.
“Not you. You stay.”
The look he gives me is sheer dread.
I swear to fuck, if I open that door and Lion is on the other side of it, I don’t know who I’m going to shoot first: Lion, or Master Mike Godart.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. Impatient.
I drop to one knee and slide the same Ruger I’d taught Liv to shoot on from inside my ankle holster, rolling up my jeans briefly, then tucking them back down as I rise. Safety off, weapon pointed at the floor, I edge toward the door and press myself to one side of it, leaning out the window.
I catch a hint of a shoulder in a very crisply pressed and tailored suit. Not Lion, then.
I shift in front of the door, holding my gun hand behind my back just in case, and undo the latch, pulling it open.
Alec Holly stands on the other side of the door, as cool and calm as if his collar isn’t drenched in sweat, fastidiously adjusting his tie clip. “Mr. Woods,” he says, clipped and perfunctory and entirely condescending. “Quite the walk up here by the scenic route.”
That black, ugly disgust I’d felt the other night comes boiling back up.
It’s like the man coats everything with the slime of his presence. With an irritated sound, I drop down to slide my gun back into its holster, eyeballing him from under my brows. If I’m going to shoot anyone today, it’s not going to be Alec Holly.
As much as I’d enjoy it.
“You paid Mike to find out where we went,” I snarl, my disgust turning into sheer loathing. “You used his son’s friendship with my daughter. You used my daughter.”
“No one used anyone. I simply took the most expedient path to get what I wanted.” Alec Holly’s smile is thin, almost triumphant. “Now, speaking of daughters...I believe you have mine, Mr. Woods, and I very much would like her back.”
15
A Little More Time (Olivia)
The moment I hear my father’s voice from the living room, I experience an emotion I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my life.
Rage.
Pure, unadulterated rage.
Whenever I tried to write rage, I always thought of it as a red thing.
But it’s actually white, flashing in my vision, eclipsing it like a nuclear explosion, searing through my veins like a flash of light. I can’t believe my father’s here.
And if he’s here, and Mike and Ryan are here...then Daddy must've pulled something pretty dirty to find out where we are.
I thought it was strange when they showed up, but I’d tried to play along until Riker came back. I didn’t know what was going on. I was afraid of tipping off anyone Mike was involved with if I sent him packing. I’d thought maybe the Pilgrims had tracked us here through Mike.
Knowing it's my father – and that my own father might accidentally lead the Pilgrims here anyway with his arrogant carelessness, without a care for my life, or Riker’s, or Em’s – makes it so much worse.
Before I can stop myself, I’m stalking into the living room, Em and Ryan trailing behind me like confused ducklings. I barely get a “Dad, what do you think—” out before he’s suddenly pulling me into a hug, catching me completely off guard with the tightness of his grip.
I go stiff, alarm prickling through my entire body. My father doesn’t hug like this.
He’s never been overly physically affectionate with me, just the occasional brush of his fingers down my arm or through my hair, fleeting and always leaving me feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
This is more than uncomfortable, the tightness of his grip possessive in a way that leaves me squirming and cold and thinking of Milah with her dress torn, crying over her skinned knees and elbows. I flick an almost desperate look at Riker over Daddy’s shoulder, but he’s glaring at Mike as Mike takes the opportunity to grab his son and bolt out the door, away from this situation.
I wish I could follow him.
“Darling Olivia,” Dad says, the overwrought emotion in his voice practically dripping falseness. “I can’t believe they have you living out here like this. Come home, baby girl. Please come home.”
“No.”
That’s what it takes to get me to thrust away from him, putting an arm’s length of distance between us – but it takes all my strength and all my bravery not to put Riker between us, too, a solid wall of protection so that Daddy can’t try to overwhelm me again.
It’s disturbing how easy it is to see him, now.
To know he does things like this to throw me off guard so I’ll be too spun around to question anything or do anything but let him maneuver me in whatever direction he wants me to go. It’s controlling. It’s abusive.
And I won’t let it happen anymore.
I square my shoulders, lifting my chin. I don’t need Riker to hold me up. I’ll stand on my own. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “I’m here because it’s the safest place to be, but you being here is jeopardizing the safety of everyone in this house.”
Daddy scoffs, smoothing his graying hair back and looking at me like I’m the little girl I know I still am in his mind. “Don’t be silly, darling. How can anyone keep you safe in a rickety cabin like this? I’ve upgraded the security at my estate, and –”
“It’s not the security that’s the problem,” I point out, interrupting him for once, and his eyes go flinty. “It’s the people. I trust the people here. I don’t trust the people at your estate. That...” I swallow hard. Bravery or not, it’s hard to admit this out loud. “That includes you. Not anymore.”
My father’s mask hardly cracks, but that hardness in his eyes is impenetrable. “Now you’re being ridiculous. Hysterical. Olivia, you are coming home. I’m your father, and I know what’s best for you. All this madness, it's gone to your head. You aren’t mature enough or experienced enough to be making decisions like this.”
“Nice to finally know what you really think of me. But no.” I never thought standing up for myself would hurt so much, but I guess the problem is when you get bigger than people think you should be, the first thing they want to do is knock you down.
I’m still standing, though, while I continue, “I’m staying here, Daddy. And so are you, until you start telling me the truth.”
Daddy looks down his nose at me. “I don’t understand what truth you think needs telling.”
There it is. The you’re crazy tone. The you’re a little girl, your imagination’s running away with you tone, but it doesn’t work on me anymore. I shake my head.
“Em, go back in the bedroom,” I whisper. She doesn’t need to hear this.
Em bites her lip, standing awkwardly behind me. “But...”
“Please, Em. This is serious.”
She nods quickly, already retreating. “Okay.”
I don’t speak again until she’s gone, shutting the bedroom door with a soft click of the latch.
Then I meet my father’s eyes, staring him down. “Tell me what’s really going on. Tell me about your real involvement with this. This isn't all Milah's mistakes. I want to know what's really going on. With the Pilgrims, with the Runners...all of it.” When I say the name Runners, that’s when his expression gives him away, his eyes widening slightly, his entire body oddly motionless. “You’ve been acting strange since this started. Erratic. Changing your mind all the time. Like you’re trying to hide something.” I step closer to him. “If you really love me, Daddy...just give it up. Tell me what you’re hiding.”
He looks at me for a moment, a strange look like he’s afraid I might hurt him, before he looks over his shoulder toward the door. But Riker’s there.
He positions himself in front of the door, a grim and forbidding obstacle that my father isn’t getting through. My dad’s a tall man, but he’s not Riker; over two hundred pounds of solid slab muscle standing with his feet planted and his arms folded over his chest and a look on his face that says if my father tries to force his way past
, Riker will find a way to lay him on the ground very, very easily.
I catch Riker’s eye. Please, I mouth.
I need him to let me handle this. I need him here, but I need him doing just what he’s doing right now: backing me up wordlessly, letting me do the talking while he sends his own message with silence.
His jaw sets as if he’s about to argue, before he sighs and nods subtly.
It gives me the boost I need, to know he’s trusting me to take the lead.
I wait until my father finally looks at me again. There’s a wariness there, careful, and I can tell from the way he watches me that he’s trying to figure out how to talk his way out of this.
That's all he's ever had besides money. Words.
Hollow, slick lies and meaningless bait.
He's calculating how to get off free, without consequences, if he can just snowball me into accepting whatever he says. I plant my hands on my hips, glaring at him, just waiting until he stops with his mental gymnastics. Finally, he settles on a smile.
“If it will ease your mind, darling, of course we can talk things out. I had no idea you were fussing and worrying so much.”
He’s patronizing me. I don’t care. I point at the couch. “Sit.”
He folds himself ingratiatingly onto the couch, even if he curls his upper lip at the crocheted throw and plucks at it as if it might get his fine wool suit dirty. He crosses his legs, lacing his fingers together, and gives me with a plastic smile. “Really, dearest, all this because I asked you to come home? I never –”
“You never ask anything. You just phrase your orders a bit more politely.”
Dad raises both brows. “Do I? And where's this coming from now? Who’s been feeding you this sort of nonsense?”
“No one’s been feeding me anything!” I let a bit of my frustration out, flinging a hand out, before taking a deep breath and calming myself. I can’t fly off the handle, or he’ll just treat me like a little girl throwing a tantrum. “It’s normal for adults to want to make their own choices, instead of having them dictated and following along passively. And you seem to have missed the fact that I’m an adult now. Just because you couldn’t stop Milah from growing up too fast, doesn’t mean you can keep me as your little girl forever to make up for it. I'm not a damn bird in a cage.”