Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  I grip him at the root and take him deeper down my throat, as deep as I can swallow him without choking.

  “God, Em,” he groans as if he’s in pain, grabbing the back of my head.

  I suckle him wetly, my head bobbing up and down while I squeeze his tight balls.

  “Fucking hell,” he rasps, his thigh muscles bulging as he stands with his legs apart, his fingers tangling in my hair.

  I work my mouth up and down the length of him as he groans with pleasure. I’m so turned on I can barely breathe, can only—

  Abruptly he pulls me off him.

  I look up at his face, confused and frustrated until I hear the shuffle of approaching footsteps, reminding me that we’re not alone. Our housekeeper is here, and she’s about to get quite an eyeful.

  Suddenly a phone rings.

  Mrs. Sutton pauses and answers the call, her cheerful voice echoing through the foyer. She laughs into the phone and reverses direction, her footsteps fading away as she heads back toward the kitchen.

  Reyes’s hot gaze blazes down at me as he traces my bottom lip with his thumb.

  I smile. “Saved by the—”

  He reaches down and picks me up, cradling me in his arms and carrying me up the staircase to our bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind him, strides across the room and places me on all fours at the end of the bed.

  With my butt in the air and my hair spilling over my face, I look over my shoulder just as he rips my panties off, the sharp snap of elastic causing me to gasp.

  He makes a rumbling sound in his throat, caressing the curves of my ass before gathering the mass of my hair in his hand and sweeping it over my shoulder.

  I bite my bottom lip when he slides his finger through my wet crease, then roughly palms my hips and lines up his cock with my pussy.

  I shiver, my nipples peaking tight and my belly quivering. “Reyes—”

  He drives into me. A hard, plunging thrust that has me sucking in a hissed breath at how amazing he feels.

  He growls low and grabs my ass to lift me tighter against him, his cock so thick and swollen that I feel him in every muscle, every limb, every inch of my skin.

  “Reyes,” I moan helplessly as his big body slams into me. Over and over and over.

  When I climax sobbing his name, he pulls out of me and rolls me onto my back. He spreads my shaking legs and stands between them, watching my face as he rubs his hard cock up and down my cleft. The look in his eyes—primal and possessive—almost sends me right back over the edge.

  As my thighs tremble harder, he fists himself and thrusts back inside me.

  I cry out wildly, arching off the bed.

  His strong hands pin my legs back until my knees press into my chest. Then he pulls back his hips and shoves into me again.

  “Oh God,” I moan.

  He’s so deep inside me, driving his cock in until his balls slap my ass, then withdrawing and slamming into me again. It feels so good that my nails dig into the mattress and my eyes squeeze shut.

  “Mírame,” he roughly commands. “Look at me, wife.”

  I open my eyes to meet his searing gaze.

  “I hated this place growing up,” he rasps fiercely. “But I came back for you. Never forget that. I came here because I fucking love you and I need you in my life. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  His impassioned words and relentless thrusts have me gasping for breath as scalding waves of pleasure crash through my body. I love how completely he possesses me, branding me with every stroke and taking what’s his.

  As his thrusts grow more urgent, I whimper and dig my nails into his ass cheeks, my thighs clamping tight around his flanks. When he reaches between us and fingers my painfully sensitive clit, another orgasm hits me with such ferocity that I throw back my head and scream, my womb clenching and releasing in violent ecstasy.

  “Fuck, baby.” Reyes’s body tightens, his head falling back on a savage groan.

  I gasp sharply as hot spurts of cum lash my walls, bringing tears to my eyes.

  Reyes falls forward onto me, pushing his face into my shoulder as powerful spasms rack his whole body. I hold him to my chest, my lips nuzzling the damp silk of his hair.

  When his muscles stop trembling, he exhales a deep breath that makes his massive shoulders expand even wider. Then he pushes himself up on his arms, his eyes locking with mine as he slowly pulls out of me.

  I feel warm semen spill from my body and run down the crevice of my ass before puddling on the bed.

  Reyes leans down and takes my mouth in a deep, drugging kiss that liquefies my bones. I’m vaguely aware of being moved to the center of the bed. And then he’s curling his long body around mine, spooning us together with his arms banded around my breasts, holding me close and tight.

  We lay in sated silence for a while before he murmurs into my hair, “You came home earlier than I expected. I thought you were going to the apartment to start packing.”

  I shake my head against the pillow. “Didn’t feel like it.”

  As another beat of silence passes, I consider telling him about my encounter with my father. He’d definitely want to know.

  But I don’t say a word. I’ll save the story for another day, another time.

  We wash up together and make our way downstairs to eat the savory chicken and dumplings that Mrs. Sutton prepared for us. As soon as we finish, Reyes picks me up and carries me back to bed.

  Deep into the night, he makes love to me over and over, laying to rest any fears and doubts I may have concerning his commitment to our marriage.

  When it’s over, I curl into his sweat-slick body, snuggling against his side with my head resting on his shoulder. He wraps his arms protectively around me, kisses my forehead and whispers a string of endearments before falling asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  EMERSON

  “Just how many suits do you own?” I marvel the next morning, watching my husband get dressed.

  He chuckles, pulling on a pair of charcoal gray suit pants. “I don’t know. I don’t keep track.”

  I snort. “Spoken like a clotheshorse.”

  “Who, me? Nah.”

  “I beg to differ.” I’m sitting on the center island in his massive closet, which houses more custom suits and shirts than a bespoke tailor. They’re meticulously organized, hung according to color and style. One entire wall is lined with shoes, everything from hand-stitched Italian loafers to rugged hiking boots. A whole row is dedicated to his signature Maxx Malone sneakers, courtesy of a lucrative Nike deal that he signed after his record-breaking rookie season.

  I take a long sip of my green smoothie, my eyes glued to him as he shrugs into a crisp blue shirt, the muscles in his chest and shoulders flexing. I could watch him get dressed all day. Seriously.

  “You keep staring at me like that,” he rumbles warningly, “and neither of us will be leaving this room today.”

  I let out a husky laugh and bite my lip. “It’s not my fault you’re so irresistible.”

  He grins and winks, tucking his shirt into his pants.

  We got up early this morning, worked out and showered together. I’m not due back at the Gazette until Monday, so I’m spending the week packing up my stuff at the apartment. Reyes is headed to the office for an executive council meeting. Tonight we’re hosting a dinner party for his board members, who flew in from around the country. It’ll be our first dinner party as a married couple, and I’m both nervous and excited.

  “Mrs. Sutton finalized the menu,” Reyes says, as if reading my mind. “She’s got everything under control, so don’t stress yourself out.”

  I pout at him. “Maybe I want to stress myself out. Maybe I want to be the perfect hostess who knows how to select the perfect china, create perfect centerpieces and coordinate perfect seating arrangements. Maybe I want to make such a dazzling impression on your colleagues that—”

  Reyes kisses me, silencing the avalanche of words. “You have nothing to prove
,” he murmurs against my lips. “If I wanted the perfect society wife, I would have married a debutante.”

  I grin. “Thank God. Because that is sooo not me.”

  He laughs, moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror.

  I drink my smoothie, watching as he deftly knots his silk tie. “Do you ever get homesick for the ranch?”

  “All the time. That’s why I go back every chance I get.”

  I smile. “I can’t wait to visit this summer. We’re still going, right? Before training camp?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re long overdue for a visit.”

  “That’s what Tahoma told me,” I say fondly, thinking of the Native American ranch foreman with the big laugh and lazy swagger. “It was so damn good to see him at the wedding. I swear he hasn’t aged a day since we were kids.”

  “Not a day,” Reyes agrees.

  “I’ve never forgotten his cooking. He made the best green chile stew and carne adovada.” I grin. “And every time you guys came back from the firing range, he would brag that you were the best marksman in all of New Mexico.”

  Reyes grins. “He used to say Dad taught me to shoot, but he perfected my aim.”

  I laugh warmly at the memory. As Reyes fastens his onyx cufflinks, my gaze drifts to a framed Sports Illustrated photo hanging on the opposite wall. The photographer captured a beautifully poignant moment between Reyes and his father right after he won his first Super Bowl. In the photo, father and son are hugging tightly, tears streaming down their faces. They’re both thinking of Natalia, wishing she could have been there to celebrate with them. The iconic picture tugged at heartstrings around the world and made me cry every time I saw it.

  “Sometimes I wonder . . .” My voice trails off reflectively.

  Reyes’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Wonder what?”

  “Do you think your dad wishes you’d stayed home to help run the ranch?”

  Reyes crosses to the wall of shelved shoes. “I asked him that after I got drafted.”

  “Really? What’d he say?”

  “He admitted that yes, he would have loved having me at the ranch working alongside him every day. But he said it would have been hypocritical of him to ask me to stay home when he and my mother were allowed to chart their own course in the world. They both left their childhood homes and family businesses to start a new life someplace else. For that reason, they wanted Mireia and me to have the same freedom to pursue our dreams—even if those dreams took us far away from home.”

  I smile softly. “What awesome parents.”

  “The awesomest.” Reyes selects a pair of Berluti loafers and sits on the cushioned bench to put them on.

  I finish my smoothie and sigh. “Maybe our son will take over the ranch someday. Or our daughter.”

  “Nope. Our daughter’s gonna be a debutante.”

  “Like hell she will!”

  With a diabolical laugh, Reyes grabs me and plants smacking kisses all over my face and neck, making me squeal with laughter.

  Grinning hard, he plucks me off the island and into his arms, nuzzling my lips as he carries me out of our bedroom and down the hall.

  When we reach the top of the staircase, the doorbell rings, chiming through the house.

  I look up at Reyes. “Is that Mrs. Sutton?”

  “No. She has a key.”

  “Who else has the security code for the gate?”

  His eyes darken. “My family.”

  As I stiffen in his arms, he sets me on my feet and heads down the stairs.

  I follow slowly, watching as he crosses the foyer and opens the door.

  When I see his uncle standing there with four FBI agents, my heart drops into my stomach like a ton of bricks.

  Reyes’s hand tightens on the doorknob. “I thought I already told you—”

  “I’m not here for you.” Brigham’s cold gaze moves past him to settle on me. “I came to speak to your wife.”

  “About what?” Reyes snarls.

  A vicious little smirk twists the corner of Brigham’s lip. “Emerson knows.”

  Ice congeals in my veins.

  Reyes turns to stare at me questioningly. “What the hell’s going on?”

  I swallow nervously, watching as Brigham and the other agents file into the house like a SWAT team.

  “Em,” Reyes growls, recapturing my attention. “What is he talking about?”

  “My father.” I can barely squeeze the words through my throat. “I . . . I saw him.”

  “What?” Reyes exclaims. “When?”

  “Yesterday. He came to the studio—”

  “What the fuck?” Reyes reaches me in one stride, gripping my shoulders. “What the hell happened?” He runs his hands down my arms as if searching for bruises. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine. Really—”

  “You had a secret meeting with your father.” Brigham’s tone is suspicious and accusing. “Was it prearranged?”

  “What? No!” I stare at him. “It wasn’t a secret meeting! He was waiting outside for me when I left the studio.”

  Brigham studies my eyes like a poker player. “You weren’t expecting him?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then why did you get in the car?”

  I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “He pulled a gun on me.”

  “WHAT!” Reyes explodes in disbelief.

  “It’s okay—”

  “THE FUCK IT IS!” he roars.

  “He didn’t hurt me,” I hasten to reassure him. “He just wanted to talk—”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Reyes demands, holding my head between his hands. “Why would you keep that from me?”

  “I–I was going to tell you—”

  “When?” Brigham challenges.

  Reyes whips around to face him, his features a mask of tightly controlled fury. “Is this an interrogation? Because if it is, I’m calling my attorney.”

  “No need for that, nephew,” Brigham says with a deceptively innocuous smile. “We’re just having a friendly little chat in your lovely home. Your wife has stated publicly that she and her father are estranged. Now that he’s made contact with her, we’re interested in hearing the particulars of their conversation.”

  Reyes frowns. “Unless Silvio was ordered to stay away from his family, any communication between him and his daughter is a private matter.”

  Brigham’s eyes narrow and his lips thin. “Your father-in-law violated the terms of his bail by kidnapping Emerson at gunpoint, which is a felony. The moment he brandished a firearm at her, he forfeited his right to privacy.” His sharp gaze shifts to me. “You’ve made it known that you want to help put your father away. As long as you cooperate with us, you have nothing to worry about.”

  Reyes looks down at me. I can see the questions in his eyes, the speculation and anger. I promised to tell him if my father contacted me, but I didn’t. I kept it from him, and now he’s wondering whether he can trust me. Not a great start for marital success.

  “Let’s talk in the parlor, shall we?” Brigham suggests.

  Reyes nods brusquely and takes my hand, leading the way into the living room. He sits on the tufted leather sofa and pulls me down beside him, practically planting me on his lap. I can feel the tension vibrating through his body. I’m just as on edge.

  Brigham takes a seat in the wingback armchair that his mother occupied just yesterday. The other four men lurk in the doorway, hard-jawed and intimidating. Which is clearly the purpose of their presence—to intimidate me. Two of them would have been enough. But no, Brigham had to bring twice as many. Asshole.

  “Forgive my manners.” Smiling blandly, he introduces the FBI agents. I’m so nervous that their names go in one ear and out the other.

  “Now then,” Brigham says with implacable authority. “What was the nature of your visit with your father?”

  “It wasn’t a visit,” I correct him. “He ambushed me at work and forced me to take a ride with
him.”

  Brigham gives me a twisted little smile. “If you were really taken against your will, you should have no problem telling us what was discussed.”

  My heart is hammering and the blood is pounding in my ears. I’ve done nothing wrong, but I’m scared.

  You have a powerful enemy, my father’s warning reverberates through my mind. He’s a very dangerous man, and he means you no good.

  “Emerson.” There’s a cunning gleam in Brigham’s eyes. Like a predator setting the perfect trap for his prey. “You need to share any and all information pertaining to your conversation with your father.”

  I glance at Reyes. His face is hard, his eyes focused intensely on me. He wants answers, too.

  I swallow tightly and wipe damp palms on my leggings before turning back to Brigham. “After he congratulated me on my marriage, I asked him why he’s estranged from his siblings. He told me it’s because he was accused of rape—”

  “Rape?” Brigham exchanges an almost gleeful look with the agents. “When was this?”

  “When he was sixteen. He said the sex was consensual.” I relay the story my father told me. Although Brigham’s expression remains carefully inscrutable, I know I’m giving him ammunition to use against my father. Which is fine by me.

  When I finish speaking, he leans back slowly in the chair and nods. “What else did he tell you?”

  My throat has gone so dry that I can’t swallow. “He told me he’s dying of liver disease. He said he only has six months to live.”

  Reyes jerks in surprise. “Jesus,” he mutters, staring at me. “Is that true?”

  I nod. “He gave me an envelope containing his medical report, but I didn’t open it.”

  “Your father’s illness doesn’t change anything,” Brigham says harshly. “He’s not going to receive public sympathy, and he still has to answer for his crimes in a court of law. And since he committed another felony when he kidnapped you, he’s going right back to jail.”

  “Good,” I say coldly. “That’s where he belongs.”

  Brigham narrows his eyes, watching me closely. “What else did he discuss with you yesterday?”

  I hesitate. “He said he named my mother the beneficiary of his life insurance policies, even though she didn’t want him to. I know my mom,” I add heatedly. “She’s not going to keep a dime of that money after he’s gone. She’s going to give it right back to his victims, and rightfully so.”