“I so fucking wanted to trust you.”
Patrick
Madeline’s beautiful green eyes opened wider as my grip of her wrist intensified. Like a vision, she’d appeared beyond the partition. No longer donned in oversized clothes, her every curve was covered by a soft sweater and black slacks showcasing her slim waist, round tits, and shapely ass. My gaze fell to where we were connected, seeing my fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist confirmed that unlike an apparition, she was real.
Damn.
With every shard of my shattered soul, I wanted to hate this woman. I longed to be unaffected by the tug-of-war that pulled tighter when we touched or the surge of energy and power that our union created. It was more than that. While physical connection increased the bond, it wasn’t required. Simply being in her presence—no, knowing she was alive—did things to me I detested. I didn’t want to feel the overwhelming sensations—covetousness love and desire.
I didn’t want it.
But I couldn’t stop it.
The feelings were there, bombarding my body and soul and radiating through me. Like the injection of a drug, my flesh burned as Madeline’s being flooded my circulation.
I detested everything about it.
I couldn’t hate her, even if I should, even if it was my desire.
Instead, I chose to hate our bond.
I chose to concentrate on the facts. That’s what I did.
That’s what had made me the man I was today. The facts were clear, crystal. Madeline had left me. She could claim it wasn’t as it seemed or as I presumed. The semantics didn’t matter; seventeen years ago when I lost her, I longed for my life to end.
Maddie had been more than my wife. We’d been together for over three years. I realized now that timeframe was hardly a lifetime, but to an eighteen-year-old, it was a fucking significant portion. She was my first love, my reason to live, work, and strive to be a better man. Madeline had been my everything—the reason I woke in the morning and came back to wherever we were living in the evening. Her sleepy morning smiles and the way she curled close under the blankets were my motivation to survive.
The night I returned to find her gone, my life as I knew it ended.
My reason to continue was gone—vanished.
“I don’t know, Patrick,” the pastor’s wife said. “She went shopping earlier today for the kitchen, for food supplies. I should have gone with her.” She reached for my arm. “You don’t think she left you, do you? It was only a couple hundred dollars. Didn’t she do this before to a foster home?”
The memory of that conversation still gnawed at my gut.
Shock.
Hurt.
Disappointment.
Disbelief.
Loss.
And now within the last few minutes, faced with new deception, those feelings were back with a vengeance.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, trying to free her wrist. “And why didn’t we land?”
Garrett, Christian, and Romero bristled in their seats, knowing the reason, knowing what we’d learned—what we’d barely escaped. With a quick look over my shoulder, I spoke to Garrett. “Confirm the fuel supply with Marianne and once the flight plan is set, let me know via text.” I didn’t need to say more. Garrett knew my new desired destination.
“Yes, sir.”
“And,” I cautioned all three men, “under no circumstances are we to be disturbed.”
Their response was swift, three quick nods combined with mumbles of affirmation.
“Patrick?” Madeline questioned, looking up at me.
Without a verbal response, I continued my hold of her wrist as I stepped toward her, staring into her eyes and pushing her backward into the aft cabin. Once we’d both crossed the threshold, I closed the partition behind us as the whine of the engines and angle of the plane reminded me that we were still climbing to cruising altitude.
“What happened?” she asked. “You can trust me. You said you wanted to. What’s stopping—”
“Seconds,” I interrupted through gritted teeth. “We were seconds from a fucking ambush.”
Her head shook. “I don’t understand. You said Andros was still in Chicago. What about Ruby?”
My jaw clenched tighter as her pulse thumped beneath my grip.
I towered over her petite form. “Did you hear me? Seconds. If we had touched down, we could all be dead. All of us, Maddie. You, me, those men. Was that your mission, to go down in a kamikaze effort to take out Sparrows?”
“What?” She stared in disbelief. “No. I wouldn’t. Ruby is my reason for living. I would never agree to leave her.”
Releasing her wrist, I stepped back. “Then what exactly was your plan? Did Ivanov promise to spare you? You said you’d do whatever he wanted, whatever he decreed was your penitence. That was what you said—your words. Would delivering four dead Sparrows to his doorstep be enough of a penitence?”
“No. I didn’t even know about Sparrows until tonight at the club. He never said...I told you there’s always some fight—some war. I never listened or questioned. It wasn’t my place. My concern is and has always been Ruby. Besides, I haven’t spoken to Andros since he left me at Club Regal. You know that. How could I?”
Inhaling, I ran the palm of my hand over my hair. My bicep bulged beneath my shirt and suit coat as I attempted to rein in my frustration. Our gazes met. “Are you listening? The airport was a trap. Minutes before we were to land, my men in Chicago hacked into the airport’s security. When they did, they saw Ivanov’s men in position. Somehow, even without the bracelet, they knew exactly where we were going.”
As the plane continued to ascend, Madeline stared into my eyes. With each passing second her expression hardened. “It doesn’t matter what I say to you, does it?” With determination in her step, she came closer.
The soft scent of flowers preceded her arrival. Her hand landed on my chest. It took all my willpower to remain in place and not back away as the warmth of her touch transcended the fabric.
“Tell me, Patrick, will you ever forgive me? I’ve stupidly been sitting here...” She motioned to the seats. “...with visions of fairy tales that up until today I never allowed myself to imagine. But that’s all they are, right? Stories. Make-believe. There’s no happy-ever-after for us. You won’t allow that.”
“Me? You’re turning this on me?”
“You will never see me as anyone other than the person who disappeared. The circumstances don’t matter to you. Tell me, how do you see Ruby?”
“As my daughter. And right now I’m doing my best to not think about your betrayal or the fact that you’ve been part of a Russian bratva. Believe me, if I were concentrating on either of those, you wouldn’t like where it would go.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A fucking promise.” As my reply came forward, I lost my will to fight, deciding instead to surrender to the connection, to take it, use it, and in doing so, hope it would extinguish.
Reaching forward, I snaked my hands around her waist, my touch connecting under the sweater, seizing her warm skin and pulling her against me. The softness of her tits smashed against my chest as my fingers splayed over her lower back, bringing her flush against me. The plane’s pitch was on my side as she fell into my embrace.
I stared down, searching her gaze as her face tilted upward and her long hair cascaded down her back. Her plump painted lips parted, yet no words came out.
“You’re my wife.”
Her lids fluttered as our hearts beat against one another’s.
“Fucking say something,” I demanded.
“What do you want from me?”
The list was endless, and while our flight time would be a few more hours, at this moment, I had no desire to verbalize any of it. Instead, I reached higher under the sweater, releasing the snap of her bra. With one hand still holding her against me, the other skirted her warm flesh until it cupped her breast, tweaking her nipple as beneath my touch it hardened.
“Patrick,” she moaned. “Is that all I am, a fuck?”
“No, Maddie, it’s not all.” Releasing her, I reached for her hand and began to lead her.
“Wait.” She stopped. “Where are you taking me?”
“We’re on a fucking plane. How many options do I have?” I asked as I once again led her back to the dressing area, all the while wishing we’d brought a different plane.
At least the dressing room would give us a bit of privacy.
Madeline
As the door behind us shut, the cushioned round settee in the center of the room came into view. An hour ago, I’d sat there to don the boots I was now wearing. Suddenly, it appeared bigger. Maybe it was the closed closet doors or maybe it was the palpable sexual tension reverberating through the air.
“What about—?” I began to ask.
Patrick’s finger came to my lips. “No talking, Maddie. I’ll tell you what’s happening, but first, I want my wife.”
I took one step back as my skin tingled at the primal intensity within his searing gaze. Wordlessly, his blue orbs held me in place, forbidding my refusal of his claim or further dissent. Perhaps it wasn’t he who forbade; maybe it was me who didn’t want to refuse, who wanted the connection we shared, the fire in his eyes, and to be his wife.
My mind told me I was crazy, that in the last few hours I’d learned that regarding his chosen lifestyle, Patrick was no different than Andros. Like the Ivanov bratva, the Sparrows were their own piece of organized crime. Patrick may not be in charge, but he obviously held significant power. The evidence was visible with the way the others listened to his orders and respected his ideas.
Did Patrick kill people?
Did he relish their pain?
Did he involve himself in illegal activities?
Were people hurt, addicted, or killed because of what he promoted or allowed?
Was the answer yes?
I should care.
Had a lifetime in the Russian mob allowed me to wear blinders?
Somehow, it felt the opposite. Staring at Patrick as he removed his suit coat, tie, and cufflinks, my heart knew that any similarities with Andros ended with their profession. That wasn’t to condone what either of them did. Nevertheless, I believed there was more to them than their profession. In that more, the two men were on opposite ends of the spectrum, maybe not good versus bad—but day versus night.
It was the life and vibrancy behind Patrick’s eyes, as well as the way his wide chest, now devoid of his shirt, heaved and abs grew taut with each breath. Unlike Andros’s eyes that were dead and calculating, Patrick’s shimmered with a predatory hunger.
A lion sizing up his prey.
As Patrick neared, my lungs struggled to inhale as my skin warmed and core clenched.
“You’re mine,” he growled as his manly scent filled my senses.
I didn’t protest. As my hands went to his strong arms, my fingertips roaming the indentations of his muscles, I tried to reason with myself.
This, here and now on this plane, felt different than the times we’d made love in the hotel.
Life had taken a drastic turn since then.
Before, I was bound to Andros; truly as long as he had Ruby I was. And yet high in the sky with Patrick’s bare chest before me, his hands roaming beneath my sweater, and lips peppering my neck, freedom was within sight.
Closing my eyes, my head fell backward, and I gave into the rush of endorphins his lavished attention stirred within me. No longer a young boy, Patrick had become a skilled seducer. His nimble long fingers pried latches and buttons as he removed each piece of clothing from my body.
Sweater.
Bra.
Boots.
Socks.
Slacks.
Panties.
While his actions weren’t the threat he’d uttered, there was still a message within each distinct deed. Unapologetically, Patrick was taking what he deemed his, reclaiming and conquering what had been his before anyone else’s.
“My wife. Mine.”
The words came with different emphasis as I surrendered to his touch and manipulation until he had me where he wanted. Lying upon my back on the settee, supported by my elbows with my nipples hard and core wet, I was exposed and bared to him.
Patrick took a step back. With his trousers still in place, I became aware of a pattern of inequality. One I was most certain he enjoyed—me completely nude, him not.
He scanned me from head to toe until our gazes again met. “Tell me your name.”
“Patrick.”
He reached for the buckle of his belt. My reaction wasn’t voluntary. Yet the moment was shattered as I tensed and my eyes widened.
His gaze went from me to his own hand upon the buckle. “What? Fuck no, Maddie, don’t ever fear me.”
I wanted to object, to tell him it wasn’t him. My reaction had only been a momentary lapse, but he’d seen it. He had an uncanny ability to see what I could successfully hide from others. That realization made me vulnerable in an uncustomary way.
I couldn’t understand how Patrick could so easily read my emotions. After all, I was a poker player. I’d worked almost a lifetime to keep them in check and yet with Patrick, each one was flashing like a neon sign.
“I don’t want to,” I admitted. “You said...you said I wouldn’t like where this was going and so far, I do.”
Undoing the belt and button, and lowering the zipper, Patrick allowed his trousers to fall. Reaching for the waistband of his black silk boxer briefs, he freed his impressive cock.
I fought to look up at his face as I took in the beauty of his manhood. Hard and thick, the tip of his cock glistened as he fisted the length.
“You asked me,” he said, his voice thick with passion and laced with desire, “if I was the kind of man who punished with his cock.” His hand continued moving as he stroked the velvety taut skin. “I fucking want to be. I want to take you over and over. I want to prove you’re mine. I want to erase whatever has ever happened to you, and furthermore, I want to hate you with every thrust. Every time your pussy contracts and you’re on the brink of orgasm, I want to deny it. I want to punish you for leaving, for not telling me I had a daughter, and for not giving me a choice.” His hand moved faster as the cords in his neck grew taut and his shoulders pulled back. “I want you to hurt just a fraction of the way I have.”
A strike of his belt would have been less painful than the power of his words.
Patrick’s insight made me see myself.
My past.
The things I’d done.
I saw the woman I’d allowed myself to become, the one he now saw. The one he wanted to deny pleasure and even harm.
My chin fell forward as I swallowed, fighting the bubbling tears of self-loathing.
Through the years I’d faced worse words, threats, and even physical punishments. I’d faced them and moved on for the next round and the next. I told myself each time that I’d done it for Ruby. I still believed that. However, through Patrick’s eyes, I also now believed I accepted my fate because deep down, I believed I deserved it.
Warmth covered my legs and torso as his solid body crawled over me. His erection probed against my tummy. Patrick reached for my chin, bringing it up until our lips met. Gently his tongue danced with mine as we both fell to the settee. Deeper and deeper he probed. The actions of his lips and tongue radiated warmth like the flame of his gaze. When his kiss ended and I opened my eyes, his blue stare was right in front of me as our noses touched.
“Don’t,” he said.
I sniffed back the tears. There were too many things to say and too many memories vying for the chance to take away any pleasure. I took a deep breath. “You should hate me.”
“I said I wanted to. I didn’t say I did.”
I shuddered as his words settled over me.
“Don’t give in to those clouds,” he said.
Arching my back, I moved my legs until his hips were between them and
his hard cock poised. “Do it,” I said with confidence. “Punish me this way. Get it over with and then maybe we can move forward.” When he didn’t move or speak, I reached between us, fisting his erection and lifting my hips.
“Stop,” he demanded.
“You don’t understand. I want you to do this.”
His forehead furrowed as he moved my hand away. “Maddie, you deserve better than an angry fuck.”
My head shook. “I don’t.” My shoulder shrugged. “I don’t, but for the first time in seventeen years, I want a man. I want the same man I wanted then. I want to feel you. Be angry. Punish. I don’t care. You make me feel. It’s something I haven’t...not in so long.”
Patrick’s palm gently came to my cheek as he pulled my gaze back to his. “You know that now I can’t.”
I could still feel his erection between us. The tips of my lips curled upward. “I am confident you can.”
“I’m not saying that I’m incapable,” he corrected. “I won’t. I want you back, Maddie—all of you. When I fuck you...when we make love, it’s not because I hate you or am punishing you. Yes, I’m mad and fucking hurt. I don’t know if I can trust you, but I damn well know that when I’m inside you, it’s because you’re mine. The thing you need to accept is I want more than your body. I want all of you. Every damn piece.”
“I don’t understand. Patrick, I want this. I do. I don’t care if it’s because at this moment you love me or hate me. I want to feel you, to know you’re real, that I’m real.”
He took a deep breath and pulled away, the absence of his wide chest and warmth left me cold and alone. I reached for a blanket or cover, but there was none.
Standing at the end of the settee, Patrick’s gaze again seared my skin as he slowly moved his sight over my exposed skin. “You’re fucking beautiful. Exteriorly, you’re more gorgeous than I remember.” He offered me his hand.
Exteriorly?
He saw the ugliness beneath.
With a sigh, I laid my hand in his open palm. He tugged until I too was standing.
Patrick again cupped my cheek. “I saw them that first night at the hotel—the clouds. I guess I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. I wanted to not be the only victim here, but I can see that I’m not.”
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