by P. Jameson
“—and I left in a hurry.”
“Appreciate the effort by the way.”
She pushed at his chest but he held her hand there.
“I know when you feel good…” His hand on her hip moved down between her legs, rubbing through her jeans. “Down here. You make this noise that just… mmm, makes me fucking crazy. It’s like a moan or a whimper, but lower. From your gut. Sexy as hell.”
A deep blush painted her cheeks, making her freckles practically disappear.
“Now, what did you learn about me?”
She squeezed her thighs around his hand, forcing him to stop his rubbing. For now, he would. Just so she could answer his question.
“That you aren’t used to being such a careful lover, but for some reason, with me, you were,” she murmured, like it was a secret. “That you’re used to a rougher touch, but you like mine just fine.”
“Love yours,” he interrupted. Get that straight. “What else?”
“That at your soul, you’re a good man. That you need to heal from your past, just like I do. That you think kissing is just as important as making love is. That you give me butterflies with the way you talk like there’s an us. And that you want… more?”
They couldn’t get any closer, but that didn’t mean Malcom didn’t try. Hands on her hips, his fingers curling. She was pressed in tight. He could feel her heart pounding through her ribs.
“So. Much. More,” he rasped against her lips.
“Me too.”
And their admission turned into a kiss. He went deep this time, taking her mouth as hard as he could. The urge to brand her as his was so strong he could hardly breathe. If he couldn’t do it with his claw, he’d do it with his mouth.
Francesca broke away, breathing hard, her lips read and swollen from his. The sight made his beast roar with pleasure. But he couldn’t keep his lips off her. He went along her jaw, nipping, licking, kissing.
“And I learned… you know just exactly what to do with my body,” she breathed, nails digging into his scalp.
“Mmm. Like I was meant to serve it.”
Her desperate whimper was all it took for his control to snap. Before she could draw in a gasp, he had her backed against the wall, spread eagle, and his hand down the front of her jeans.
“Malcom!”
His fingers brushed over her clef, finding the wetness he’d caused. She was silky, soft, and so wet she’d need to change her jeans when he was done. Fucking perfect for what he wanted to do.
“Baby…” he ground out. “I’m going to fuck you hard this time. Because my beas—” Can’t tell her that. “I need it. But first you’re going to come on my fingers. And it’s going to happen fast. Okay?”
“God, yes. Please. Do it just like that.”
He spread her wider with his hips and slid one finger inside her, coating it with her juices. She drew in a sharp breath, but he knew it was all pleasure. Could tell by the way her pussy clenched him. He added another finger, two pumping inside while his thumb rubbed circles around her swollen clit.
“Malcom! Shit!” She squirmed but he didn’t let up. She could take this much sensation. She needed to take it.
He found her eyes, frantic with her approaching release. “Feel it. Feel it all.” Did she feel the bond right now? Feel how fucking chained to her he was. And how he never wanted to be any other way.
But he didn’t have a moment to think about it, because with a cry, she shattered apart, rippling all over his soaked fingers.
Malcom didn’t wait for her to finish. He yanked her jeans over her hips without bothering with the button or zipper. Jerked them down her legs and she stepped out of them.
“Please… please…” she panted, as he freed his erection.
He found her opening, scalding and wet, and pushed in. With one swift thrust, he had her pinned, swallowing her moans as he ravaged her mouth.
Fuck. She burned him. Always burning him, but he could never get enough.
He pulled away, surging back in while he watched her body bounce with the force.
Damn it, too hard.
“Yesssss,” she hissed, and it urged him on.
Shit, slow down. Be careful. Mate needs careful.
“Baby…” he pleaded with her to understand.
Then she moaned those magic words that made him know everything was all right, “Harder. Please, Malcom.”
Her teeth came down on his neck, and he was helpless to slow down. His hips swung, bringing them both closer to release.
Francesca’s hands ran up the bottom of his shirt, pushing at it until she touched skin. Her nails dug in deliciously, earning a growl from him.
“That… is so… fucking sexy, mate.”
He pistoned into her until the sounds coming from her mouth were wild and frantic with need. Until they matched him grunt for grunt.
“Coming,” she gasped, and her body clamped down on him so tight he saw stars.
“Fuck. Fuck, Francesca baby.”
And then he came hard, her pussy sucking at his cock like a greedy throat.
Mine. Mine, mine, mine… don’t mark. Not yet. Not… yet.
“Uhmmmm,” she groaned one last time as he forced himself to slow to a twitching stop.
“That,” he breathed. “That’s the sound. Fucking hell, woman. How do you do that?”
He kissed her neck, sucking and relishing the whoosh of air next to his ear as she tried to catch her breath.
“I don’t know. Until last night, I don’t think it existed.” She let off a happy laugh and Malcom grinned against her skin. He’d done this. Made her so fucking happy. He could feel it like sunshine through their bond. This was the kind of thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
Fuck his past. Fuck Felix and his destroyed clan. Fuck his nefarious deeds. They were behind him, and Francesca… his beautiful, fiery female, was his future.
Chapter Eleven
Malcom stood outside the little family-run jewelry store on Main, considering what he was about to do.
This is foolish thinking.
He knew it, and his beast did too.
They’ll find you, and it’s too soon. You’re not ready to face them yet.
It was true, if he went through with it, his family would find him fast. But it was the day before Christmas and Malcom wanted to give Francesca a gift. She’d given him so much. Her body, her heart—at least some of it—and the prospect of a brighter tomorrow.
Showing up empty handed was unacceptable.
The last two weeks were the best of his life. He spent his days working at Brightwoods. His job there had less to do with the flowers and more with keeping Francesca organized and orders going out the door. It worked because it opened up time for her to make art happen. And it kept him out of the eyes of paying customers who couldn’t understand why she’d hired the bum who used to sleep on the bench out front.
Every evening he checked on Philly to see how she was getting along at the shelter, but he no longer signed up for a bed there. He and Francesca had an arrangement. He shared her house as long as she let him pay for half the utilities—which he covered easily with his paycheck—and as long as she let him do the hard labor like chopping wood and changing the lightbulbs.
Bonus: falling asleep beside her at night.
That part came free.
Someday, he’d have to tell her about his broken beast. For now, their bond was growing, and it was better than he could have imagined.
He eyed the jewelry shop. Francesca deserved something special for Christmas.
Bad, bad, bad idea.
But then again, he’d spent a lot of years making bad ideas work for him.
With a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and pushed through the door, flinching at the sound of the bell announcing his arrival. It was the sound of regret. But come tomorrow, seeing the look on his female’s face… he wouldn’t regret a thing.
Inside, the shop was surprisingly empty. Glass topped jewe
lry cases formed a backward L, and behind one stood a suited man in his late fifties. His thinning hair was slicked back and his expression was wary. Malcom was pretty sure he had his finger on the panic button.
Trying to seem unthreatening, Malcom approached the counter. “Morning, sir.”
The man gave him a nod, but didn’t move from his position so Malcom went to looking for what he wanted. He passed over rows and rows of sparkling rings. Lines of glistening, icy bracelets. Where were the necklaces? He wanted to get her a necklace so it could sit closer to her heart.
He stopped in front of a case, eyes briefly pausing on each display, searching for the right one. The heart pendants were beautiful, but too cliché. He wanted something unique for his Francesca. The solid string of diamonds was too dressy for everyday wear, and he definitely wanted her to keep it on. There were glassy, gawdy items, but those didn’t seem right either.
“Can I be of any help?” the suit asked. His words were polite, but his tone told Malcom, he’d prefer him gone asap.
He looked at the guy. The poor fucker was nervous as hell. Malcom’s beast could feel it in the air. But on the outside the man looked cool as a cucumber.
“I’m looking for something special. For my girl. Money is no object. Just want something… nice.”
The man lifted one salt-and-pepper eyebrow, and his expression seemed to ease a touch. Like this was something he could work with. “Cry or smile?”
“What?”
The man strolled over to the case Malcom was looking at. “Do you want to make her cry or smile?”
Malcom frowned. “Why would I want to make her cry?”
The jeweler’s mouth turned up a smidge and he gestured to the wall behind him where a poster of a woman opening a jewelry box hung. Her face was full of wonder as tears streamed down her cheeks, while a smiling man looked on from over her shoulder.
“Crying,” the jeweler said, before gesturing to the opposite wall where a similar poster hung. This one had a woman laughing as she opened the box. There was no man behind her, and although she seemed happy, there was half the emotion in that picture versus the other one. “Or smiling.”
Malcom considered his question. He definitely wanted more emotion from Francesca. He didn’t like tears, but he might like them if they were happy ones, and leaked from her eyes because of him.
“Crying,” he answered, and the man gave a nod as if he’d known Malcom’s answer all along.
Without a word, the jeweler used his key to open a case, and pulled four boxes from the shelf. He lined them up along the counter, and Malcom made sure to keep his distance in case the man thought he had ulterior motives.
“I believe one of these might be what you’re looking for.” He removed the lids from three of the boxes, but left the fourth one closed.
Malcom carefully examined the offerings, imagining Francesca opening them Christmas morning. But every time he pictured her face seeing what was in the box, she had the wrong reaction. Smiling, not crying.
He shook his head. “What’s in that one?” He pointed at the fourth box, and the jeweler frowned.
“I think it’s out of your price range, son.”
“I told you, money isn’t an issue.”
The man’s eyes went kind. “I’m sure your lady wouldn’t want you spending your last dollar on her. Any woman worth her salt would only care about the thought behind the gift anyway. These are cubic zirconium. Just as glittery, at a fraction of the cost. And she’ll never know the difference.”
Francesca might know, but she wouldn’t care if her diamonds were real or fake. He could tell by her house and things that she wasn’t incredibly materialistic. But none of these pieces felt right. They weren’t special enough. And they didn’t say what he wanted to say: that he’d lost his heart to her faster than he could accept. That he wanted to keep her always. That he wanted to make a new life with her. One where his past didn’t haunt him, and one where she was never lonely again.
Malcom cleared his throat. “I’d like to see the last box please.”
The jeweler sighed heavily, one side of his mouth quirking up. “I used to be like you once. Down on my luck. Lost even. I never would have wasted my hard-earned penny in a jewelry store. Not even for a lady. You must love her very much.”
“I do.” He slammed his mouth shut, but the words were already out there.
At one time, he would have thought it impossible. That his heart wasn’t capable of love. But she’d shown him different.
Carefully, the jeweler lifted the lid off the last item to reveal a sparkling star pendant on a silver chain. Tiny diamonds covered the surface, forming a four-point star that looked eerily similar to the one in depictions of the nativity. It seemed to glow for how the light caught it. Bright enough to make him blink. Like a tiny actual star. And it made him want to hum Silent Night.
It was perfect for his little piece of light. A bright little gift for his bright spot. And she was an intuitive female. She would understand the meaning behind it. He could picture her crying happy tears maybe. And he would kiss them away. It would be the best damn Christmas of his life.
“I’ll take it.” His voice came out rough with emotion.
“It’s…” The Jeweler shook his head. “It’s 5K. Please, allow me to show you some other options. I’m sure I have something you’d like just as much in the back. Let me go check—”
“I want this one. You take debit card, yeah?”
“Well, sure.” The jeweler swallowed hard, making his throat work like a slinky. “As long as you provide the proper ID.”
“Ring it up then.”
Malcom waited while the man bagged his item in a shiny blue paper bag and then took it to the register.
“That will be five thousand, one hundred and ten dollars, and ten cents, sir.”
He handed the jeweler the card to his bank account in Memphis, and the moment seemed monumental. He was actually doing this. Using the money he’d saved from his old life to buy a beginning to his new one. And calling the past down on him and Francesca hard.
But somehow, he knew it was going to be all right. After all, their beasts were as broken as his was.
“Your ID, Mister…” The jeweler squinted at his debit card. “Malcom Skinner Frazier.”
He passed over his driver’s license.
“Hmm. So that is your legal middle name?”
“Parents had a sick sense of humor,” Malcom murmured. “Might be time for a name change.”
“Indeed,” the jeweler agreed.
He signed the receipt and shoved it in his wallet, fully aware of just how far he’d come. He wasn’t Skinner anymore, and if his family came for him, they’d learn that the hard way.
As he walked out of the Jewelry store and headed back to Brightwoods, he could already feel eyes on him. Felix and his past were coming. And when they did, he’d be ready.
Chapter Twelve
Francesca hung up the phone after saying goodbye to her brother. The remnants of a goofy smile remained on her face, but she didn’t care. It was the best conversation she’d had with Kyle in years. Something was changing in him. Like it had with her. Maybe he was finally ready to heal from their tragedy.
She knew she was.
“You told him about me.”
Malcom’s voice came hard, startling her. She twisted around to find him standing in the kitchen doorway with a strange expression on his face. And that feeling she got when he was around intensified, making her feel wild inside, and so in love she wanted to scream it from the mountaintops.
What was that feeling?
It was deeper than anything she’d ever experienced. Like an invisible cable connected them at the heart. Like she could sometimes feel him. His wants, his needs, his joys. Like they were intermingled with her own. And over the past couple weeks, it had grown incredibly stronger.
“Of course I told him. He wanted to know why I sounded so different. He was happy I’ve found someone. I’v
e never heard him sound so… light. Not since we were kids.” She stepped into Malcom, going on her tiptoes to kiss his bearded cheek, and she could feel him soften. He always went mushy around her. It made her feel powerful to have such an effect on him.
He had an equal effect on her. Turned her to a melty mess with just one of his possessive looks.
Snaking one arm around her hip, he grabbed her backside, squeezing to bring her near.
“Don’t waste that on my cheek, woman. Give it to my lips.”
Grinning, she pressed her mouth to his, loving the way his beard rasped against her chin when he worked her lips seductively. Malcom was the king of kisses. Crowned by her. And only her, because no one else was getting his mouth ever again if she had any say about it.
He pulled back, his eyes dancing. “What’s that about?”
“What?”
“You feel… possessive of me.”
Francesca frowned. She did. But how did he know that. “I feel?”
In a blink, his face changed, shuttering something. “Francesca, I need to tell you something.”
His tone sounded wary, careful, and entirely too guarded. It forced a nervous quip from her lips. “Is this about that mysterious blue bag that appeared under our tree? It looks like Santa Claus came early. He’s not supposed to leave presents until after we go to bed.”
“It’s not that. It’s something… bigger.”
He paused, trying to find words, and her tummy knotted at what was coming. All sorts of scenarios ran through her mind: he was leaving, going back to his family, didn’t want to be with her anymore. Maybe the present under the tree was a goodbye gift. Maybe he was going away to school somewhere like Kyle. Could they make a long distance relationship work?
“I need to tell you who I am.”
“I already know who you are. You’re Malcom. A tender-hearted badass, that I’ve fallen hard for. A soft soul with a hard shell exterior that I’ve somehow managed to crack open and burrow inside, like a little fox finding home. And… I like what I’ve found. I know who you are. And…” Shit, this was risky. But if he was going to pull away, he needed to at least know the truth. The crazy, unbelievable truth. “I love you,” she squeaked out.