“I don’t care about that anymore,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t completely true. The whole matter just seemed very, very far away now.
He sucked briefly on my other nipple. “Goddammit, Jane, you have no idea…no idea how hard that was—”
“Shut up,” I said as I grabbed his hair and forced him to look up. “I don’t care about that stupid wench anymore. Stop apologizing and just fuck me, will you?”
His eyes flashed with that familiar glint—the one that loved and hated when I challenged him this way. His hands slipped up the backs of my legs, then grabbed me behind my thighs. Less than a second later, I was tossed onto the mattress, landing on my back with a thump.
“You want me to fuck you?” Eric growled as he crawled over me. “Like what? An animal?” His teeth closed over my nipple once more, this time with some bite.
“Ah!” I arched into the pain. “If the sh-shoe fits.”
He buried his face between my breasts. “You have no fucking clue, gorgeous.”
“Ah!” I shrieked. “Eric!”
But my cries were swallowed again by his kisses, now just as torrid and bruising as the ones in the park. We were both starving for each other. Desperately, I reached between us, eager to guide him home.
Eric broke the kiss and pushed up on his forearms. He peered down at me, though the movement just allowed me to take his thick erection more firmly in my grip. His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, glinted like steel. Slowly, he reached down and removed my hand. His long length lay on my thigh as he moved one of my hands over my head, then the other, and trapped them both under his forearms.
“Impatient, are we?” His cock slipped between my thighs, teasing the slippery warmth awaiting him.
I rocked my hips up, hoping to draw him closer. “You seemed like you needed some help.”
“I seemed…” He trailed off, somewhat amazed. “I think you forgot who’s really in charge here, pretty girl.”
The name seared my heart like a brand. And I only wanted more.
Eric sucked on my lower lip harder. I moaned into his mouth.
“Say it,” he growled as just the tip of him found my entrance.
I twisted and turned, trying to flee and get closer to his broad, strong body. “Say—say what?”
“You know what.” He pushed in further, but only just.
“Oh, God,” I moaned, squirming even more. I wanted him deeper, but at the same time, I didn’t think I could take it. “Oh, God, Eric…”
“Say it,” he commanded as he charged forward. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
He pushed inside completely, and his sudden presence there, along with the friction of his hips right over my clit, pushed me directly over the edge of a cliff I hadn’t even known I’d been standing on. A sudden orgasm swept through me; one I hadn’t even been expecting.
“OhGodEricIloveyouuuuuu!” I cried as I shook from head to toe, limb to limb.
And it was only then that he started to move. Solid, consistent. Filling me again and again, reuniting our bodies and our minds in that way only he knew how to do. Just as my initial euphoria faded, Eric’s consistent, even rhythm inspired the bloom of a new sensation, one that went so much farther than the surface.
He pulled one of my legs over his shoulder and sat up on his knees so he could look down at me, drifting his other hand around my face, over my breasts, stomach, hips. My hands threaded together over my head—even without his hand there, I still felt pinned to the pillows.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Jane,” he whispered as he continued to move, deep enough now to make me arch with every blow. He dropped a kiss on my ankle, and his other hand found my clit, drifting a thumb lightly over the sensitive spot. “A goddamn work of art.”
I had heard them before. Those words. In that voice. But it didn’t make them less erotic or any less meaningful. I was still so frustrated with the man, but I couldn’t deny that I loved him. Needed him. When he did this to me, nothing else in the world seemed to matter.
I spun out in that beautiful dream of pleasure and desire. His name filtered from my lips again and again until another wave of pleasure rose in front of me like a shooting star.
“Eric,” I whispered, this time too overcome to shout.
His gray eyes widened. “Jane.” His voice was hoarse as he lurched over me. “I’m…goddammit, I’m going to come.”
“Do it,” I urged. “Just let go! I’ll be right with you.”
Eric’s gaze was a hammer, and I was the nail. The force of his expression alone bound me to the mattress as he pounded away. But just as he tensed every one of his cinderblock muscles, clearly ready to relieve all the pressure in each of those merciless blows, there was a loud knock at the front door.
“Triton!”
Eric froze. I opened my eyes.
Who. The fuck. Was that?
“Triton!” The deep male voice was familiar. Resonant, even through the thick prewar walls.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. I pushed at Eric’s chest. “Whoever that is, fuck him. Don’t stop!”
I was so close—so close—and just needed a few more thrusts, a bit more friction to reach my own zenith for the second time.
But Eric just stared at me in utter horror as the voice sounded a third time:
“Triton! Open the door!”
Like the voice was a shot through his chest, Eric exploded off me, stumbling backward naked and still erect, looking as disoriented as I felt. I pushed up onto my elbows, suddenly angrier now more than ever.
“Hey!” I snapped. “You cannot be serious right now, buddy. We talked about this. Orgasm-withholding is a hard limit!”
But Eric didn’t respond. His eyes were flying around the room, searching for clothes. He grabbed the first things he could find from the closet—a pair of ratty joggers and a clean white dress shirt, shoving them on without underwear as he hopped from one leg to another.
“Eric!” I yelled as I sat up completely, holding the bedsheet to my chest. Outside, a few car horns blared in concert with me.
His eyes widened, like he hadn’t completely realized I was still there, naked on our bed, still throbbing from the orgasm that had never happened.
“Jane,” he croaked, glancing between me and the window, where a fire escape hung outside the double-paned glass. “Get dressed. And run.”
And then, before I could respond, he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Eleven
Since all of my clothes were still in my workroom next door (we hadn’t yet rebuilt the master closet to accommodate both of our wardrobes), it took me a few minutes to find some of Eric’s that would actually stay on. Eventually I located a pair of pajama pants and one of his expensive white Oxford shirts, which I knotted around my waist, looking like I’d walked out of a TLC video circa 1992. That was me, apparently. Ain’t too proud to beg.
I made sure my makeup wasn’t melting down my face Crow-style, then exited the bedroom still tying my hair into a bun on top of my head. Fuck a good impression. Whoever the hell had interrupted this reunion with my “beloved” was going to be on the receiving end of my wrath, not hospitality.
“All right,” I said as I entered the living room. “Who in the hell at the door was more important than what we were doing? Last I heard, Triton was The Little Mermaid’s dad, not anyone who lives in this apartment.”
Eric turned from the door. His shirt was still buttoned only halfway up, offering a distracting view of his abs and chest. The coin dangled around his neck again. If he hadn’t looked so terrified, I would have towed him back to our room, even if the Queen of England herself had joined us.
A sudden stream of evening sunlight through the bay windows cut through the storm, making the coin gleam. Eric’s face crumpled.
“Jane? I told you to—”
I waved his words away. “You didn’t really think I was going to do that, did you, Petri? Now, who’s our guest? I’m guessing Pa
pa stopped by. Are they deorum vocas-ing again? Do we need to have a talk about appropriate fucking moments for reunions?”
Eric folded his mouth into a thin line and shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was more irritated with me or himself at that moment.
I turned to the person whose tall, imposing figure filled the doorway. It was, of course, the same man who had burst through the doors of St. John the Divine two weeks ago.
John Carson looked down his long, slightly hooked nose at me with an imperious gaze that matched the oiled salt-and-pepper curls so assiduously groomed to his scalp. His eyes gleamed with intent. Slim and tall, he was immaculately dressed in a navy three-piece suit, over which an open raincoat floated around his person like a cape. He looked like a very wealthy, Burberry-clad Dracula, a fact I didn’t like to admit since I could also see the resemblance to me.
The same hazel eyes.
The same long limbs.
The same smug mouth twisted in a knowing grin.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My insides suddenly scrambled as I came face-to-face with a man who could only be my father. I blinked, swallowed heavily. And then called on my plentiful supply of bravado.
“You have a bit of a habit of breaking up awkward moments, did you know that?” I said as I approached. “First my wedding, and now my husband’s homecoming. Perhaps you should wait until you’re properly invited to these things. If you are at all.”
“Jane,” Eric murmured.
I just rolled my eyes. From my vantage point, the fact that my maybe-husband had left me at the altar, that he was currently staring at me like a terrified gerbil, that he had literally pulled out of me mid-orgasm—all of this was because wannabe Mr. Burns kept busting in on everything. And yeah, I’ll be real. I was most angry with the last one. I didn’t care if this guy was the Pope—he wasn’t getting away with fucking up my sex life.
“How did you get up here?” I asked as I folded my arms. “Carson, is it? Because I’m sure as hell not calling you ‘Daddy.’”
The man blinked. Slowly, his smirk widened, and he bowed. He actually bowed, like some archaic character from an Edgar Allen Poe story.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
“Jane,” he said as he extended a long hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet my daughter properly at last. I wouldn’t have chosen these circumstances, of course, but we’ll make do.”
I examined the hand for a minute, took it, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Carson’s hand—I couldn’t for the life of me think of him as John, and definitely not Dad—was cold and overly smooth, like bone. It was like greeting a cadaver.
“You would have preferred a creepy meeting place in the rain?” I said. “Eric and I politely decline your offer. We decided to come home. The two of us. Alone.”
As I emphasized the word “we,” Carson’s pleasant expression disappeared.
“You know,” he said. “Some might say it’s rude to ignore an invitation. Or an order. Isn’t that so, Triton?” he asked Eric.
“We had more important things to do,” I cut in. “Like consummating our fucking marriage, asshole. Or did you show up to watch? Pretty kinky, but incest isn’t my thing, just FYI.”
Eric buried his face in one hand. Carson’s tightened even more as he cast a look over the room behind us. His gaze caught the abandoned wet clothes, and his jaw clenched visibly.
“I believe you are mistaken,” he said as he walked inside, carefully avoiding the debris and muddy tracks. “From what I understand, the marriage is not legal.” He turned by the kitchen island. ‘Isn’t that correct, Triton?”
Eric mumbled something under his breath that sounded strangely like “Yes.”
I shot him a dirty look, which he avoided.
I turned back to Carson. “We’re figuring it out. It’s a family matter.”
His laugh was like listening to a rock bounce down a stepladder—jarring, rhythmic, and clipped. “I suppose that entitles me to negotiations, doesn’t it, my dear? After all, no one ever asked your father’s permission. And Eric, of course, dearly paid for it.”
Carson’s eyes floated over Eric’s body, which shuddered visibly. I stepped closer to Eric. He only stepped away.
“What did he do to you?” I whispered.
But Eric wouldn’t answer, just shook his head and turned back to Carson “Things are more…complicated now.”
Carson looked Eric over. “Cute, Triton. Very cute. But try as you might, you’ll never have your grandmother’s negotiating skills. A viper, that one.”
His tone was overtly admiring, like Celeste had been a force to be reckoned with, but not without some spite. Well, she had been a force. I could testify to that personally.
“What do you want?” I asked, unwilling to beat around the bush. I was tired of being jerked around in this little charade.
“Simple,” Carson said. “To protect my legacy.”
I frowned. “Your what?”
“Young de Vries here had his orders. Several times, I might add. To stay away from you.”
I frowned. “Me?” I shook my head. “Why me?”
Carson tipped his head. “Call it a protective father’s instinct. It’s not your fault, my dear, that Eric has such a hard time taking orders.”
I turned to Eric, who just held out his hands.
“I couldn’t,” he said weakly. “I couldn’t walk away from you.”
My heart twisted in my chest. Yeah, I knew how that felt. Still, something wasn’t adding up.
“I don’t buy it,” I said. “So what, your little two-faced clubhouse decided the boss’s daughter was off-limits?”
Carson’s head snapped up. “She knows about Janus?”
“She’s smart, Carson. She figured it out.” Eric shrugged, but didn’t mention Brandon. For once, I was grateful for his impervious exterior.
Carson scowled. “Inexcusable. We’ll attend to that later.”
Was it me, or did Eric shrink at the implied threat? From a man at least thirty years his senior?
I, on the other hand, was puffing up like a blowfish. “This is ridiculous. What does it matter what the evil Boy Scouts say? Why did you have to get involved with them anyway? Just walk away like you did last time.”
“Oh, Eric didn’t walk away,” Carson corrected me. “He thought he did, but in reality, he was released.”
My forehead screwed up in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Five years ago, Eric wasn’t an active member of our little group,” Carson said. “A black sheep running off to play attorney?” He scoffed. “Please. We had no use for him then.”
“But you do now?”
Eric took a deep breath. “Jane, DVS operates nearly a third of the major ports in the world right now. Our contracts basically control what goes in and out of almost every country on the planet. I’m the controlling shareholder now. That makes me…valuable.”
“That’s enough,” snapped Carson. “It’s bad enough she knows about the society. The rest is none of her concern.”
“None of my concern?” I parroted. “How’s that, Dr. No? You are literally twisting my life around because of all this nonsense. That definitely sounds like my concern. Do you usually interfere with the lives of your members with this kind of manipulative horseshit?”
“Of course not,” Carson replied easily. “But the other members haven’t tried to marry my daughter.”
And there it was. The key difference. The reason for his interference. Me.
“You’ve—I—we—” I stumbled over the words until I could think of just one thing—the thing I’d been avoiding for the last two weeks. “I need to call my mother.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.” Carson took a few steps closer to me. “Yu Na was told to stay far away from my activities long ago. She accepted my settlement and married that…” His hand waved, as if recognizing Carol Lefferts as an actual person wasn’t even worth his time. One of his thin eyebrows arched. “What, you don�
��t think she and the psychologist came up with that house payment on their own, did you? There is also the fact that her VISA was processed within days, not years.”
Carson leaned down so he could look me straight in the eye. It wasn’t far—he was tall, but so was I.
“Yu Na has good reason to be afraid of me,” he said. “As does Eric. I’d hate to give my own daughter a taste of that medicine, but it’s not out of the question if she doesn’t behave.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but something in Eric’s eye stopped me. He shook his head minutely. So I remained quiet and took a step back. Proceed, asshole, I thought. And like he heard me, Carson did.
“You see, my darling, I have a bit of a problem. There is an unfortunate price, it seems, of working with the elements I do. A cost of being at the forefront of modern technology.”
“You mean weapons of mass destruction?”
Carson cast another long look at Eric. “Someone has been talking.”
He shook his head.
“You’re the CEO of Chariot Industries,” I shot back. “And I have access to Wikipedia.”
Carson frowned, but continued to pace. “I see. Well…let me be frank, then. A man reaches a certain age, and he wants a legacy to leave behind. He wishes to know he will not be forgotten.”
“So you found out your swimmers are sterile, and I’m all that’s left. Your little half-Korean mistake?” I had to laugh. “Well, that’s rich.”
“It is what it is,” Carson replied between his teeth. “The facts as they are.”
“Well, the facts are also that I want fucking nothing to do with you,” I said. “I don’t know you, regardless of whatever money you gave my parents. I don’t want your ‘legacy.’ I don’t want anything at all from you.”
Carson shrugged. “I harbor no illusions about the possibility of our relationship,” he informed me. “Nor, quite frankly, do I want one. You are much too old and much too…” He waved his hand up and down, as if to indicate something unworthy about my general being. “No, you would never be an appropriate heir. I shall make do with closer confidants. But I have one requirement. That my superior bloodline does not under any circumstances mix with this…swill.”
The Kiss Plot: Book Two of the Quicksilver Trilogy Page 11